All Love's Glory
by Mary
Summary: Family life and the Agency do not go hand in hand, a truth Amanda discovers with all too painful clarity. Can she find it in her heart to forgive Lee’s betrayal or was their relationship doomed to failure from the start? --STORY COMPLETE--
1. Prologue

DISCLAIMER Scarecrow & Mrs. King is copyrighted to Warner Brothers and Shoot The Moon Production Company. The original portions of this story, however, are copyrighted to the author. The song, "Loves Glory', is written and performed by Patti Scalfia. No infringement of copyright is intended. For plotting purposes, "canon" references in this story refer to shooting scripts rather than the actual episode aired. Do not distribute, in whole or in part, without permission from the author.

Title: All Love's Glory

Author: Mary

Date written: September, 2003 – May, 2004.

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Family life and the Agency do not go hand in hand, a truth Amanda discovers with all too painful clarity. Can she find it in her heart to forgive Lee's betrayal or was their relationship doomed to failure from the start?

Angst Warning: Extreme

Author's Note: This story is a stand-alone and NOT part of the "With Or Without You" universe.

ALL LOVE'S GLORY 

Prologue

"well baby

i'll

i'll believe in all

all of love's glory

so don't you try and talk me down . . ."

__

_Friday, May 22, 1987___

_11:32 a.m.___

****

_Lee Stetson paused beneath the arched entryway and scanned the crowd. Though it was only mid-morning, the elegant dining room was already three-quarters full. By the look of things, this group had kicked their Memorial Day celebration into high gear. Of course, a long weekend held no extraordinary charms for D.C.'s privileged few. As Billy Melrose had once pointed out, no one who worked for a living frequented the O'Ryan Club. _

_He searched the room again, at last spotting Billy and Dr. Smyth at a secluded corner table. Apparently his chief had finally received that vaunted invitation to the Club he'd always wanted so badly. Lee sent up a prayer that whatever had brought them together on this balmy Friday morning was not going to intrude on his long-overdue vacation. His off-assignment mode had not coincided with Amanda's since their ill-fated honeymoon trip back in February._

_As he approached the table, Dr. Smyth acknowledged him with a thin-lipped smile. "Sit, Scarecrow. We don't stand on ceremony here."_

_Lee frowned as he lowered himself into a chair. When the head of the Agency attempted pleasantries, it could only mean one thing. Billy's equally sour expression confirmed that his boss's thoughts were running in a similar vein._

_"Order something if you like, kiddies," Smyth offered with an affected wave of his hand. "Then let's get down to brass tacks. There's a lot of ground to cover and time's a fleeting."_

_Without sparing so much as a glance at Dr. Smyth, Lee opened the leather-bound menu. The Bay Room's luncheon specialties seemed more suited to a full-course dinner than an early lunch. Where was that famous French dip sandwich Billy was always raving about? He noted with a touch of annoyance that the prices weren't even listed. Elite clubs like the O'Ryan held no special charms for him anymore._

_In spite of the serious tone at the table, Lee smiled. Amanda would be pleased that her tireless speeches on the merits of frugality hadn't fallen on deaf ears. After all, he was a family man now. If he ever hoped to convince her that the big property up in __Rockville__ was more than a pipedream, he needed to show her that he could compromise, too._

_Dr. Smyth's voice shook him from his pleasant daydream. "I suppose you're wondering why I initiated this little party," Smyth drawled as he removed his cigarette holder from his jacket pocket. "I spent the morning chewing the fat with the President's special security boys. They threw us a new bone, and it promises to be the meatiest one yet."_

_Smyth retrieved two files from a slim leather briefcase. Lee could almost feel his weekend plans slipping away as the Agency's Director of Covert Operations slid the thick one marked "Eyes Only" across the table to him. "Take a big, wide gander at that, Scarecrow."_

_Lee rubbed the tips of his fingers over his forehead as he opened the cover. "'Arbaalk?' It doesn't sound familiar."_

_Dr. Smyth slipped a cigarette into the ivory holder. "Au contraire, my boy. You, more than anyone, should grasp the significance of the letters in that particular name."_

_Out of the corner of his eye, Lee saw Billy pop an antacid. This must be even worse than he'd imagined. He turned back to the file, his frown deepening as recognition dawned. "My God, it can't be . . ."_

_Smyth shot him a self-satisfied smile as he shifted the cigarette holder to the other side of his mouth. "Exactly what the boys in the Oval Office said not two hours ago, but I'm afraid it's all too true. They're back."_

_Lee glared at his superior. "Why me?" _

_"Why not?__ The President himself requested my best agent for this assignment." Smyth's smug look turned decidedly sardonic. "And as William here is always telling me, you, Scarecrow, are at the top of that particular heap."_

_Lee's mouth suddenly felt dry and he swallowed hard. "And if I refuse?"_

_"You could, of course. It's certainly within your rights." Smyth chuckled as he passed another file across the table. "But somehow I don't think you will." _

_Lee felt his remaining saliva evaporate as he opened the slim file. He didn't really have to look; from the bleak expression on Billy's face, he already knew what the official-looking documents would say._

_"Did they leave anything out?" Smyth's tone was more arrogant than usual. _

_Lee bit his lip. "No. Internal Affairs was amazingly thorough." Sitting up straighter, he flipped the folder shut. "What is it you expect, exactly?"_

_"The same thing the President expects," Smyth said. "An end to this game, once and for all. I think you'll agree it's in everyone's best interest."_

_Lee's eyes narrowed. "How so?"_

_Dr. Smyth took a deep breath and looked deliberately around the room. Apparently satisfied that the O'Ryan's patrons were occupied with their own pursuits, he leaned across the table and engaged Lee's eye. "It's what's best, Stetson, for everyone concerned," he said, an unexpected note of compassion creeping into his voice. "Surely you see that as clearly as I do. As we do," he amended, including Billy in his gaze._

_Lee raised an eyebrow as he looked to his boss and long-time friend. "You agree with this . . . assessment?" _

_Billy shifted in his seat. "I wish to God there was another way, Lee," he said at last. "I know how much you and Amanda . . ." He cleared his throat as he looked down at the table._

_Unable to meet the sympathy in his friend's dark eyes, Lee reached for his water glass and took a long gulp. Damn right Billy should know; he'd encouraged them, after all. Even given his tacit approval. And now he expected him to simply walk away? No, he couldn't do it. It was too much to ask of any man._

_Wasn't it?_

_As if sensing his inner struggle, Dr. Smyth leaned back in his chair to deliver the final parry. "I believe the new Mrs. Scarecrow has two young wheat stalks of her own." He took an exaggerated puff of his cigarette. "It would be a shame for them to be harvested before their time. Unfair, as well, to force them to pay the price for . . . what? One moment of insanity in an otherwise stellar career?"_

_Lee let out a long breath. Phillip and Jamie . . . he'd always known deep down inside that somehow, someday, it would come to this. Ever since that business with Kai . . . well, the damned mystery marriage idea had only been a temporary compromise, hadn't it? A way to hold onto a dream he couldn't quite give up. He just hadn't expected to have to pay the piper quite so soon._

_"What do you say, Stetson? Of course, the final decision is up to you. Right, __Melrose__?"_

_As Billy remained silent, Lee looked away and ran a hand through his hair. Marriage, a family . . . what had he been thinking? He'd been a damn fool to ever let things go so far. After all the years he'd spent in this business, he'd had the temerity to think that he could lead a normal life. Normal was for other people, people who hadn't bartered away their right to happiness in the hallowed name of national security. Still . . ._

_He turned back to Smyth, hoping, praying for a reprieve, but he only found the inevitable conclusion reflected back at him in the man's wintry gaze. Closing his eyes, Lee willed himself to let the last images of softball games and horseback rides fade away once and for all. Smyth was right—Billy, too, for that matter. They acted as if he had a choice, but he didn't, not really. He'd forfeited his choices long ago. And that was the harshest reality of all. _

_When he at last allowed himself to speak, Scarecrow's voice was hard. "What do you want me to do?" _


	2. Part I Chapter 1

**I **

**__**

_"oh baby tell me stories_

_about those pretty words_

_who will deliver us from blame_

_who will walk free __who will walk in chains. . ."_

**__**

Tuesday, June 16, 1987

8:15 p.m.

"Lee, you barely touched your food," I whispered as Phillip and Jamie finished clearing the dinner dishes. "Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

He brushed away the hand I'd rested on his arm. "I'm fine, Amanda. I have a lot on my mind, that's all. I tried to tell you earlier, this wasn't a good idea."

"Look, Mother and the boys went to a lot of trouble to put together this dinner. And I've barely seen you for weeks. Would it kill you to spare a few minutes for us? Especially tonight?" Though I tried to mask my frustration, it evidently seeped through, because Lee scowled furiously and ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm here, aren't I?" he grumbled, evidently equally annoyed. "Let it drop, okay? I don't want your mother to see us fighting. I've already been interrogated enough for one night."

His sharp tone caused tears to fill my eyes. I wasn't normally one of those weepy types who fall to pieces at the first thoughtless word, but ever since he'd had to cancel our trip on Memorial Day weekend, Lee's mood—if you could call it that—had become darker by the day. These short, hurtful exchanges between us were now the rule rather than the exception. It was almost as if my own husband was inventing reasons to avoid me.

But there wasn't time to dwell on Lee's recent peculiarities. As the door from the kitchen swung open, I brushed the tears from my eyes, my soft sigh lost in the strains of the slightly off-key "Happy Birthday" song. As the last verse ended, I found myself looking at Lee with an involuntary smile. His stern expression softened, and, as Mother set the brightly-decorated cake in front of him, his lips parted in a shy grin. When he took a deep breath and leaned forward to blow out the candles, his eyes were as damp as my own.

"Thanks, Dotty, guys," he mumbled. "This looks great."

Mother shot me one of her famous "I told you so" looks as she handed Lee the cake knife. "The birthday boy gets to do the honors," she informed him, patting his shoulder in her most motherly fashion. "It's a family tradition."

Lee's face clouded over for a moment, the tiny crease that always signaled his unhappiness appearing in his forehead. Mother's matchmaking instincts had kicked into overdrive of late, her veiled hints becoming more and more blatant. But surely the implication that he was a part of our family couldn't put him on edge. After all, she'd only spoken the truth. He was part of the family, even if no one else was aware of it at the moment.

Which was no doubt the real cause of his foul mood. This unending secrecy was wearing thin for both of us. Lee's dissatisfaction with our "mystery marriage" was more evident every day. It was on his face every time our separate lives cut short our private time together, in his voice each evening as we said goodnight from our separate bedrooms. And as the days passed, it was becoming plainer to me that something had to give.

At least the boys' behavior tonight should put to rest any lingering doubts Lee might have about their feelings for him. I couldn't help but smile as I watched my sons vie for the empty chair next to their secret stepfather. Even Jamie had overcome his initial reluctance to Lee's presence. Once my shy youngest son had been reassured of his special place in my affections, acceptance was just a few short steps away. And now . . .

"Hey, Lee," Jamie said, smirking as he beat his brother to the coveted seat. "Can I have the rose?"

Phillip pushed in between them. "I want the rose, worm brain. You got the one from Mom's cake, remember?"

Though Lee laughed and rolled his eyes, I could tell he was flattered by the attention. "I think maybe your grandmother should get the rose," he said, playing the peacemaker to perfection. "To make up for all those flowers she's lost in her garden."

Mother chuckled as she fixed her gaze on him. "Yes, it's amazing how my flower beds suddenly seem to be thriving again. I must be getting my green thumb back."

"That must be it." Lee laughed again, and for a moment, he seemed his old self. He even turned to catch my eye, his face breaking into one of those knee-rattling smiles of his.

But my relief was short-lived. As if suddenly remembering himself, he let his spectacular grin fade back into the grim expression he usually wore these days whenever he looked at me.

No one else appeared to notice his shift in mood. Maybe I was imagining things after all, I told myself. Even as a child, I seemed to have an overactive imagination—or so Mother said. I mean, look at Phillip—his face was brimming with enthusiasm as he sidled up closer to Lee.

"Are you gonna make my baseball game tomorrow night?" he asked. "The other team's undefeated, too, so it should be pretty good. I've been practicing that curve ball you taught me."

But Lee frowned and shook his head. "I wish I could, Chief, but I'm afraid I've got to work."

Phillip turned to me with a stricken look. "You're not going to be there, either, Mom?"

"Your mom will be there," Lee assured him quickly. "I don't need her."

Phillip's face brightened, but the same words that made him so happy felt like a slap in the face to me.

Lee didn't need me.

Yes, that seemed to be the order of the day lately—or at least, since my accident. My husband seemed bound and determined to wrap me in a protective cocoon.

No one else appeared to take his words to heart, though. Lee and the boys even exchanged jokes as he opened their presents, while Mother surveyed the scene with a smile of obvious satisfaction. And the rest of the evening passed away just as happily, unmarked by any more double-edged comments. To the contrary, Lee seemed unusually touched by the party and the gifts.

"I can't believe Jamie spent his entire allowance on that fancy stopwatch," he told me after Mother and the boys had strategically retreated to their bedrooms to allow us some privacy. "He's always turned down my invitations to take the Corvette out on the track."

I smiled and sat down beside him on the couch. "I told you he'd come around. It just took a little more work, that's all."

"Yeah. I wish . . ." He bit his lip.

"Wish what, sweetheart?" I nuzzled my face into his neck. He always smelled so good . . . so strong, so masculine, so alive. I couldn't get enough of him.

Unfortunately, Lee didn't seem to feel the same way. "It's nothing," he replied, displacing me as he leaned forward. "Look, Amanda, its getting late . . ."

"It's not that late. Besides," I added, running my hand over his thigh, "I haven't given you my present yet."

He pursed his lips, steadfastly refusing look at me. "I should be going."

I let out an exasperated sigh. Lee was being intentionally obtuse, and this time it was definitely not my imagination. "Okay," I said after a long pause, "Give me a minute to say goodnight to mother and the boys . . ."

He sprang up as if he'd been stung and took a few steps toward the hall. "I'm tired, Amanda. It's been a long day."

"'A long day?'" I cocked my head and stared at him. "What is this, Stetson? Next you'll be telling me you have a headache."

"Which wouldn't be too far from the truth," he snapped. "Just give it a rest, okay? Can't you see I'm not in the mood?"

"You're never in the mood lately," I shot back. I was getting tired of this worn-out song and dance. If he had something to say to me, why didn't he just say it?

But he'd obviously said more then enough for one night. As he turned away and ran a hand through his hair again, I shook my head and pushed myself up off the couch. It was the fifth time my husband had repeated that same familiar gesture in just as many minutes. If he didn't break himself of that habit soon, he'd end up as bald as my great-uncle Iggy.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly approached him. "Look, Lee, if I've done something to upset you, I wish you'd tell me." I rubbed his shoulders in time to my words. As he leaned into my impromptu massage, I added in a gently prodding whisper, "Husbands and wives should talk out their problems, you know, not avoid them."

"Amanda," he began, but instead of the loving words I expected to hear, his tone was harsh. "I don't want to get into this tonight. Your family is right upstairs."

"My family?" I chided, my voice hoarse with frustration. "What on earth is the matter with you?"

He clenched his mouth tighter, his body rigid as he turned to me. "Nothing is the matter with me that a little peace and quiet wouldn't cure. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Lee, what . . ."

I followed him to the front door, but before I could catch him, he was already halfway to the car. Without a parting look in my direction, he slipped behind the wheel of the Corvette. The sound of the slamming car door reverberated in the quiet night.

And I was left silhouetted in the front door, listening to the roar of the sports car's powerful engine as my husband sped away from me down the street.


	3. Part I Chapter 2

Friday, June 19, 1987

5:25 p.m.

Pushing away from my desk, I leaned back in my chair and rotated my neck to stretch out the kinks. It had been a long day in an even longer week, as endless reams of paperwork somehow found their way to my desk. For someone on the verge of becoming a fully qualified field agent, I spent an inordinate amount of time filling out forms and alphabetizing files.

Although, I had to admit, even Lee was swamped with paperwork at the moment. It occupied him so thoroughly that he hadn't spared me so much as a glance over the last two hours. This from the man who, only a few short months ago, had proclaimed sitting across the room without being able to touch me "cruel and unusual torture."

Maybe it was time to take matters into my own hands. I gathered my work and headed into the vault to file my papers for safekeeping over the weekend. Pausing just long enough to run quick fingers through my hair, I fixed my face in a determined smile and marched over to my husband's desk.

"Phillip has another ballgame tonight," I said. "In case you're interested."

Lee answered without looking up. "So he told me. He seemed pretty excited about the big win the other night."

I tilted my head. "When did you talk to Phillip?"

"He, uh, called the office the other day, while you were down in the bullpen. He said it was nothing important, and you didn't need to call him back." He shrugged. "I suppose I should have said something, but I got sidetracked."

"It's okay, Lee. You're entitled to have a private conversation with him. You are his stepfather, after all." When he didn't seem inclined to answer, I tried again. "So, do you want to come to the game or not?"

"I can't."

I couldn't help but be aggravated. "Can't or won't?" I demanded, acid creeping into my tone as I wondered for a moment which husband I was talking to. His words sounded remarkably like Joe's so many years before.

Lee did nothing to dispel that feeling as he let out a long, exasperated breath. "I have a mountain of work to clear up," he went on to explain half-heartedly, his nose still buried in the thick file.

I leaned over, trying to steal an inconspicuous glance. A-R-B-A-A-L-K. Reading upside down, the letters looked like gibberish.

A shadow of annoyance crossed Lee's face as he snapped the cover firmly in place. "Did you want something else?"

Calling on my last measure of self-control, I fought the urge to snap back at him. Trading barbs might make me feel better, but it wouldn't get to the bottom of Lee's increasingly bizarre behavior. I fell back on a technique that had always worked on Joe when things were strained between us. Of course, I didn't have a sexy nightgown at my disposal at the moment, but there were other ways.

Letting out a plaintive sigh, I leaned closer, letting him catch a whiff of that perfume he loved. "The fellas are going to be with their dad tomorrow night," I whispered, letting my lips curve into an inviting smile as I trailed my fingers down his arm. "And mother's going up to New York with her friend, Millie, to see a Broadway show."

"I'm sure she'll enjoy that."

"Yeah, she will." I rolled my eyes at such thick-headedness. "But I think you're missing my point."

His body seemed to tense. "No, I'm not."

"Then why—"

"If tonight's meeting goes as planned, I won't be free tomorrow."

"What meeting?"

Lee cleared his throat and avoided my eye. "I have to meet one of my contacts."

"Alone?" A wave of apprehension spread through me. I didn't know why, exactly—Lee often met with his family of informants without backup. But there was something behind the cold, curt words that sent a chill down my spine. Or maybe it was a premonition of sorts. While I'd grown accustomed to Lee shutting me out professionally these days, he was now doing it personally as well. The feeling made me unaccountably jumpy.

"Anyway," he continued in a dull monotone, "I'll need the weekend to follow up on some leads."

"The entire weekend?"

"Yes, Amanda," he replied in that pedantic tone that always drove me crazy. "The entire weekend."

I sucked in a small breath as I finally managed to engage his eye. "That sounds a little extreme to me."

Lee glared back at me with a vague look of disapproval. "Well, I suppose I could go down to level three and take a polygraph if that would make you feel better."

I gave him a pointed look of my own. "Do remarks like that make you feel better?"

"Not particularly." All but jumping out of his chair, he began to pace a restless circuit around the room. "Maybe if you could take a hint and give me some space, I might not be forced to say them," I heard him mumble.

My eyes widened. A couple of months ago he was complaining that we never spent any time together and now he wanted "space?" This just didn't make any sense. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were deliberately trying to hurt me," I said, speaking my thoughts aloud.

Lee's reply was quick and hard. "I'm not trying to do anything, Amanda, except my job. Is that so difficult to understand?"

"Yes, it is!" I crossed the room and took him by the arms, forcing him to face me. "We need to spend some time together, Lee. I feel like you're slipping away from me a little more every day. And I don't know how to stop it."

"A-man-da." He let out a long breath. "Don't you think you're being a tad overdramatic? I've been busy, that's all."

"Too busy to make love to your wife?" I raised my eyebrows. "That doesn't sound like the guy with the healthy sex drive you always used to kid me about."

"Yeah, well, a healthy sex drive goes both ways, you know."

I took a small step back and folded my arms protectively across my chest, my fingers rubbing the long surgical scar hidden beneath my blouse. "I know things were a little . . . difficult . . . after the accident," I began. "I didn't always feel very . . . well, sexy. I thought you understood."

His eyes looked sad, as if he wanted to spare me, but couldn't. "I did . . . I do. It's just that . . ."

"Just what?" It was unlike Lee to be deliberately cruel, and I felt attacked on a most personal level.

"Nothing. Forget it."

A knot formed in my stomach. "Is there something the matter with . . . well, I mean, is there something I'm doing or not doing that . . ." I felt my cheeks flush, and I just couldn't go on.

Lee shifted his feet, obviously as uncomfortable as I was, and for a moment I thought I saw a flash of pain cross his face. "I don't think the office is the place to have this particular conversation," he said after a few moments of awkward silence between us.

I turned away. I didn't know what I'd expected him to say, but it certainly wasn't that. No, that wasn't true. He knew my insecurities as intimately as I knew his. I'd expected him to reassure me, not all but declare that our sex life was a huge disappointment.

"Okay," I said at last, more shaken than I cared to admit. "Then maybe we should take this someplace a little more private."

The ringing telephone cut off his reply. "Stetson," he barked. "Oh, yeah, hi, Gloria. No, you aren't interrupting anything. I've been expecting your call. Yeah, that'll be fine." Replacing the receiver on its cradle, Lee blew out a harsh breath and turned to me. "It looks like my meeting is on for later, so . . ."

I stared at him accusingly. "So?"

"So nothing." He picked up the file he'd been poring over all afternoon and trudged into the vault. Opening the camouflaged wall safe, the one I didn't know the combination to, he tucked the papers inside. "If you're going to make that ballgame of Phillip's, you'd better head out of here," he said as he reset the lock.

Maybe I should at that. I'd certainly had more than enough of Lee Stetson for the moment. Mechanically, I retrieved my purse from the bottom drawer of my desk. I waited for a few moments, but when Lee didn't emerge from the vault, I left the Q-Bureau without another word.


	4. Part I Chapter 3

Friday, June 19, 1987

7:42 p.m.

Keeping one eye on the red directional signal on the dashboard, I weaved through the traffic. I reminded myself that I didn't need to follow too closely; these new tracking devices had twice the range of a standard bug. After all, that's why I'd selected that particular model. With an agent of Scarecrow's caliber, I didn't want to take any chances.

The decision to follow him hadn't been a conscious one. Somehow, after leaving the Q-Bureau, I'd found myself down in supply instead of the parking garage. It didn't take much to convince Leatherneck that I needed the equipment for a covert op. After all, Mrs. King's sincerity was legendary at the Agency. It probably never crossed the quartermaster's mind that I might want the bug for personal reasons.

As it turned out, it was a good thing that I'd bugged his car instead of executing a simple tail. Without it, he would have surely spotted me. So far he'd led me on quite a tour, wending our way in circles through the D.C. streets—up toward the Capitol then back into Georgetown. He crossed the Key Bridge into Virginia, and for a moment I thought he must surely be heading to my house. But, to my dismay, he changed direction, driving back across the Potomac into Maryland. Then north again, finally stopping at a small restaurant bar on the outskirts of Bethesda. Whoever this Gloria was that Lee was meeting, he obviously didn't want to be seen with her in D.C. His obvious avoidance pattern gave me a decidedly uneasy feeling, but, determining that I'd come too far to abandon my plan now, I parked the car and headed inside.

I spied Lee and his "friend" in a dark corner table on the far side of the bar. Luckily, the room was jam-packed, allowing me to mingle in relative anonymity with the other patrons. Ordering a drink for show, I sat on a bar stool and watched my husband. At first I wondered why he'd chosen to sit with his back to the door. After all, one of the first things he'd taught me was to always keep one eye on the crowd. Then I realized that his position did have one advantage. He might not be able to monitor the crowd, but no one could observe him, either.

Taking a chance, I edged closer and slipped into the chair at a bar side table a couple had just vacated.

"Hi, there. Is this seat taken?'

I looked up to see a particularly smarmy man leering down at me. "I'm waiting for someone," I lied, turning my attention back to Lee.

Unfortunately, the guy was the persistent type. "Well, he's a fool to let a beautiful woman like you sit here all alone. Why don't I keep his seat warm until he shows up? A little jealousy might teach him a lesson."

Before I could stop him, the man sat down. Though I wanted nothing more than to eject this slick lothario from my table, I couldn't afford to draw attention to myself. Besides, however distasteful, this idiot was a good cover.

"Don't I know you from somewhere?" the man continued, obviously pleased with his worn-out line.

"I don't think so." I shifted uncomfortably as I felt his eyes rake over me. The guy was being more than a little obvious.

"I guess you must have one of those faces then."

"I guess so," I said, tuning out the rest of his tired spiel. Nodding just often enough to appear fascinated, I focused my attention on the table Lee and his friend occupied. Though I could only see the back of my husband's head, I was able to get a clear view of the woman. What I saw was a little disquieting. Why I'd expected this Gloria person to be a buxom blonde with long, flowing hair, I don't know, but that wasn't the case. The woman sitting across from Lee had dark hair and eyes, and a beauty that was understated in its elegance. I felt the oddest feeling of déjà vu; I couldn't help but remember walking into Lee's apartment and finding Leslie O'Connor ensconced there.

I felt a pang of jealousy. A blowsy blonde I could handle, but this striking brunette was another story entirely. Of course, Lee could hardly be held responsible for his contact's looks . . . could he?

Lost in my thoughts, I all but jumped when a felt a clammy hand close over mine. "It's a little stuffy in here," a grating voice said. "Would you like to go somewhere a little more private?"

I shivered. What I'd like to do was a take a hot shower and scrub off the greasy feeling of the man's fingers on my skin, but I pushed the thought, tempting as it was, to the back of my mind. "How about you get me another drink and we'll see," I countered, fixing my face in some semblance of a smile.

Grinning at his apparent success, my would-be date trotted off to the bar. I felt a little guilty for running this low-key peacock dance on such an unsuspecting sap, but with the pick-up lines the guy was using, he probably deserved whatever he got. Besides, Lee was apparently running the same scenario.

At least, I hoped that's what he was doing. I felt something tear at my heart as the stiff lines of Lee's shoulders relaxed in a way they seldom did anymore when he was with me. His infectious laugh drifted across the noisy bar. They looked so comfortable together, as if they'd known each other for years. When Lee stretched his hand across the table to her, entwining their pinky fingers in that same gesture of intimacy he usually reserved for me, it was all I could do to stay rooted in my seat.

Unfortunately, Gloria didn't follow suit. She slithered out of the booth, and in one fluid, cat-like motion, she was at Lee's side. I knew what was coming even before it happened. Still, I struggled to keep my emotions in check as she bent her head and captured my husband's lips in a long, slow kiss. Lee's response was immediate, his hand stroking down her back to her hip. After what seemed an eternity, they released each other, Gloria gifting my husband with a sultry smile. Her manicured nail flashed red as it wiped a smudge of lipstick from his mouth.

I pulled my own colorless nails from my mouth. I'd been chewing on them again, I realized, the way I always did when I was anxious. I really needed to pull myself together. Lee's clandestine meeting couldn't be what it seemed. My husband was obviously behaving like a professional; it was high time I did, too.

My date's sudden reappearance forced me to put my resolution into operation. "Here you go," he said, sliding what looked like a Tom Collins across the table. "Drink up, and we can get out of here."

Before I could reply, I heard Lee laugh again. He turned his head in my direction as his eyes followed Gloria across the bar. "I think I'm hungry," I murmured, whipping the scant bar menu up in front of my face. It wasn't big enough to provide adequate cover, though, and I prayed Lee wouldn't notice me. I needn't have worried; he was far too occupied watching Gloria slink her way into the ladies' room. Unable to watch, I turned away. When I looked back a few seconds later, Lee was gone.

Too late I noted the exit conveniently located by his table. Before I could move to check it out, Gloria returned. The sultry brunette paused just long enough to scan the room before heading toward the same door Lee must have used.

Knowing I needed to do something and fast, I tipped my drink in my admirer's direction. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" I exclaimed as the man jumped to his feet. "That was so clumsy of me."

"Yeah, well, you should be more careful," he ground out. "These slacks were hand made in Hong Kong!"

"I'd be happy to pay the dry cleaning bill," I responded, my eyes on the woman who was even now exiting the back of the bar.

"Never mind, I'll get a damp cloth." Muttering an oath under his breath, the man went in search of a waitress. I didn't hesitate. As soon as he disappeared into the crowd, I made straight for the exit.

Girding myself for a confrontation, I stepped outside. But there was no sign of Lee or his contact—only a stray dog who looked as startled as I felt. Abandoning the overturned garbage can with a howl, the mutt took off into the bushes.

I drew a few deep breaths to still my pounding heart. After half an hour in the smoke-filled bar, the cool breeze felt good, even if the air was somewhat pungent. Still, I had no desire to linger in a deserted alleyway, so I quickly made my way to my car. The episode in the bar had given me a splitting headache, and I suddenly wanted nothing more than to go home, pop a couple of aspirin and climb into bed. I'd had more than enough intrigue for one night.


	5. Part I Chapter 4

Saturday, June 20, 1987 

1:22 p.m.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Marston," I said as I entered the Georgetown foyer. Even though it was Saturday, the Agency's inimitable receptionist was on duty. I climbed the stairs to the Q-Bureau, wondering if the woman ever took a day off. Surely she had an existence outside the Agency's walls . . . hopes, dreams, a private life of her own. Did that stodgy exterior hide a passionate, vibrant woman . . . a woman with a best friend, a lover, a husband? I smiled. People no doubt wondered the same thing about me.

A good night's sleep had done wonders for my mood, and, in the sunny light of day, I felt guilty for tracking my husband last night as if he was some kind of suspect. Whatever he was up to, he deserved a chance to explain. And as I walked down the short hall to our office, I steeled myself to confess my own part in last night's escapade.

I was about to turn the doorknob when his angry voice stopped me. "Goddammit, I know what's at stake as well as you do," he all but shouted, resentment and something else bristling beneath the clipped words. "Crum's made that all perfectly clear.

When no response was forthcoming, I surmised he was talking on the phone. Though I'd just vowed to stop my spying, something held me in place. He was my partner as well as my husband. And I certainly couldn't help him unless I knew what was going on.

"Yes, you were right, I'll admit it," Lee continued, his voice now more sad than angry. "Waiting was a mistake, I realize that now. Last night proved that . . . Yes, you don't have to tell me that either, Gloria."

A bolt of jealousy shot through me; it was the same woman from the bar.

There was a moment of silence. Then, "Yes, I'll tell her. The sooner the better."

Whatever Gloria said next must have been amusing, because I heard him laugh. His sudden shift in mood made me feel even more off-balance. "Me, too," he told her, with what I could only imagine to be a spectacular smile on his face. "Talk to you later."

At least it sounded as if he'd finally decided to let me in on whatever was going on. Forcing myself to walk through the door, I greeted Lee with a light-heartedness I didn't feel.

"Amanda!" He seemed more shocked than pleased to see me. His face turned a pastier shade of white as he added, "I didn't, uh, think you were coming in today."

"Why," I responded in what I hoped what a teasing tone. "Do you think you have a monopoly on working weekends?" When he didn't answer, I perched on the edge of his desk. "Joe picked up the boys early for their trip to King's Dominion," I explained. "And since Mother was rushing around getting ready to go to New York, I thought I'd get out of the line of fire and get the ball rolling on that security review for Capital Aerodynamics."

Well, that was partly true, anyway. We were scheduled to conduct their annual review next week and the preliminary paperwork did need to filed—just not today.

Lee's face scrunched into a frown as he stroked the tips of his fingers through his hair. "Oh, yeah, I'd forgotten about that," he said, sounding mildly annoyed.

"It's not a big deal," I assured him as he pushed out of his chair and began to pace. "Capital is a great outfit, and I don't anticipate we'll have any problems with—"

"I know, Amanda. I did their preliminary review."

"Then there's nothing to worry about," I said, with a smile. When he ignored the compliment, I took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. "I overheard you on the phone, Lee." My voice faltered. "Whatever's going on, please—let me help you."

Unable to speak, he licked his lips and nodded. "I've wanted to talk to you about something for a while now," he said, his tone unexpectedly gentle. "But I just . . . well, I just didn't know how. I guess . . . I guess now is as good a time as any, though." He let out a long breath as he added, "This is so hard."

I crossed the room and put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, whatever's bothering you, just tell me. We'll deal with it together, pal."

For some reason, the use of that tender nickname caused a wince instead of a smile. "Look, why don't we sit down." He avoided my eyes as he led me over to the couch. After we'd settled comfortably against the well-worn leather cushions, he tried again. "I guess you've noticed that I've been a little preoccupied lately."

I couldn't help but smile at the understatement. "I think it's safe to say that you haven't exactly been yourself."

He looked away. "No, Amanda, you're wrong. I've probably been more like myself than I have in a long, long time."

He took another deep breath. What the heck he was having such a hard time verbalizing? True, sharing his feelings had never been Lee's strong suit, but he was taking reticence to a new level. This couldn't have anything to do with his new friend, Gloria . . . could it?

"I don't know how else to say this except to come right out with it," Lee said suddenly. "I've been doing a lot of thinking and . . . and I can't . . . well, I just can't do this anymore."

An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. "Do what anymore, Lee? You're not making any sense."

My husband ran his finger along the arm of the couch. "Maybe if there had been a little more time, we wouldn't have made this mistake. But everything seemed to happen so fast . . ."

My unease turned into alarm. "Lee . . ."

He talked on, the words now tumbling out of his mouth in a rush. "And when that bastard Birol held you captive, I . . . well, I went a little crazy, I guess."

"What has Addi Birol got to do with this?" My mouth was so dry I could barely swallow.

Lee closed his eyes, as if seeing something else, some other place far, far away. "I know it's not an excuse, but I felt so responsible." He sighed. "That bastard took you to get to me, because he thought . . . and when . . . when I saw you in that place . . . you'd already been through so much . . . because of me, you see . . . and, well, I really thought that we weren't going to make it out of there . . ."

"Lee." My voice came out of the back of my throat, hoarsely rasping. "What are you saying?"

He covered my hand with his larger one, the one I'd grown to rely on for strength and support. But his touch was oddly dispassionate. "I'm saying that we made a mistake, Amanda," he said, his voice soft and low. "And we need to admit it before the damage goes any further."

"A mistake?" I could barely breathe. "By working together?" I asked, hoping against hope that was what he meant.

He shook his head, his mouth curving up in a bittersweet smile. "No, you're a wonderful partner. Intuitive, quick thinking . . . what Harry Thornton used to call a natural." He pulled his hand from mine. "But we were foolish to pretend our relationship was more than that."

I stared at him. "What on earth is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I think it's pretty obvious now that we're more suited to be friends than lovers."

"You can't be serious," I said, my voice rising to a high-pitched squeal.

"I'm perfectly serious, Amanda." As if unable to sit close to me any longer, he rose from the couch and thrust his hands deep into his pockets. "I keep thinking about what we could have done differently and all I can come up with is . . . well, maybe if we hadn't waited to be intimate, we would have discovered all this sooner rather than later."

I sucked in a sharp breath. "Discovered all what sooner?"

"That we really are sexually incompatible."

"Sexually incompatible?" I managed to choke out. I felt as if I'd been slammed hard against the ground, the wind knocked out of me.

Lee paused to look at me. "You know what I'm talking about, Amanda. You may not want to admit it, but you've sensed it, too. You told me how much you worried about our different levels of experience. As much as I hate to say it, you were right. I've tried to convince myself that it didn't matter, but . . . well, I was lying to myself."

I rose stiffly from the couch. "And were you lying to me, too, Lee? Every time you told me how much you wanted to make love to me?"

He shook his head sadly. "That's the thing, you see. I did want to make love to you. I kept thinking that maybe this time, it would be better. You'd relax more . . . wouldn't be quite so . . . reserved. But you never . . . and then, well, you didn't seem particularly interested."

I narrowed my eyes. "You're the one who's been avoiding sex lately, not me."

"Only after I realized how you felt."

"How I felt?"

He nodded. "You kept sending me signals, putting me off. All those excuses about needing to spend more time with your mother, Phillip and Jamie . . . I'm sure you weren't even aware of it, but the message was loud and clear."

Lee continued to pace in restless circles. Yes, I could see what had happened here. My husband had obviously taken temporary leave of his senses. Or maybe he was experiencing one of those premature mid-life crises they were always discussing on my mother's favorite talk shows. Too much stress and the mind just blew . . . yes, that was the only explanation. Still, my voice shook as I replied to him.

"Okay, Lee. Suppose for a minute that everything you say is true . . . I mean, we'll forget the fact that I spent the first two months of our marriage recovering from a near fatal gunshot wound." Anger crept into my voice despite my resolve. "Or that we have to spend most of our time pretending that we aren't husband and wife at all. If things aren't the way you . . . we . . . want them to be right now, you don't just give up and walk away. You work things out."

Lee raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you and Joe did? How many years, Amanda? How much time did you waste holding on to something that was just an illusion?"

"That's not fair! What happened with Joe doesn't have any relevance to us. Joe and I were a continent apart, for Pete's sake."

"And we aren't?" He shook his head. "Across an ocean or across town, it all comes down to the same thing. You keep saying that we knew this was going to be hard for a while, but face it—things are not going to get any better. The danger will always be there, keeping us apart, not allowing us to have anything more than a half-life . . ." He suddenly stopped and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck.

A "half-life" . . . I turned the words over in my mind. Was this about our mystery marriage? That I could deal with.

"Lee," I countered in my most reasonable tone, "we don't necessarily have to keep up this charade, you know. Think about it—you're at the house all the time. My family knows we're dating. Keeping our marriage a secret may have seemed like a solution at the time, but, come on, it wouldn't take a genius to figure out what we mean to each other."

"Exactly my point. We were kidding ourselves, Amanda. It's too dangerous for us to be together. Dangerous for you, for your family . . ." Lee let out a long breath. "We just never should have let things get this far, that's all."

"Lee . . ."

"I mean, if things had worked out differently between us, then maybe . . ."

My hands clenched into fists. "You mean if I was good enough in bed, then it would be worth the risk," I spat out. "Damn it, Lee! You asked me to be your wife, not your one night stand. You held my hands in that cell when I didn't think there was anything left to live for and said I was the best . . ." My hands flew to my mouth as understanding dawned.

He walked over to the window. "Yeah, I know. I didn't plan to propose like that—it just kind of happened."

"So you asked me to marry you because you thought you wouldn't have to follow through on it," I whispered roughly. "How inconvenient it must have been for you when we actually survived."

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course I was glad you were okay." There was a slight tremor in his voice as he added, "I never want anything to happen to you, especially not because of me."

"I don't think I'm the one who's being ridiculous here," I said, my words barely audible. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that you don't love me? I'm not a fool, Lee, even if you happen to think I am."

His face softened as he turned to me. "You're right. I do love you, Amanda. I'm always gonna love you. But we shouldn't—well, we shouldn't be married, that's all. It took some time, but I realize that now."

I felt sick to my stomach. His words sounded remarkably similar to the way I described my feelings for my ex-husband, Joe King. But this wasn't the same thing at all. I would never believe that Lee Stetson was not in love with me. Shivering, I wrapped my arms around my chest and forced myself to listen to him.

"I don't know how you want to handle things from here," Lee was saying.

"Handle what things?" I could barely get the words out.

"I know working together might be a little hard for a while. If you want, I'll talk to Billy, fix things so that you can stay in the Q-Bureau. Normally, the senior agent in a dissolving partnership has the right of first refusal on a transfer, but in this case . . ."

"Dissolving partnership . . ." I'd had just about enough of this. "Is that how you intend to look at our marriage, too? Tell me, Lee, who's the senior agent there, huh?"

"Amanda . . ." He chewed on his lower lip. "I can see you're upset—"

"Well that's damned perceptive of you, Scarecrow."

"It's pointless to discuss the details of this any further right now." He glanced at his watch. "Besides, I have a meeting in a few minutes."

"Your good friend Gloria, no doubt."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, but his frown told me that he hadn't expected me to bring her up.

"I'm sure you remember her—the contact you had drinks with last night? Tell me, is she the one taking care of all those needs I seem to be incapable of fulfilling?"

His eyes darkened, then took on an air of ineffable sadness. Slowly he closed the distance between us and placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "You may not realize it now, but in time you'll come to see things the way I do. If we stay together, we'll only end up hurting each other more than we already have. The rest of the family, too. It's better this way. It's not what I want," he continued when I remained silent, "but it's the only choice that makes sense. Please believe that."

I shook off his hand. "I don't think you know what you want, Lee," I returned, trying to salvage what was left of my pride. Then I turned and walked out the door.


	6. Part I Chapter 5

Saturday, June 20, 1987

9:35 p.m.

The Corvette was still parked in its usual place on the street, the engine cold. I noted this significant little fact on what must have been my tenth pass by Lee's apartment, when I finally found the courage to park and pat down the hood.

I'd left the Q-Bureau in a state of emotional exhaustion. Not knowing what else to do, I simply drove, my bizarre conversation with Lee playing over and over in my head. Eventually I ended up back on Maplewood Drive. By this time, I was worn out physically as well. I wanted nothing more than to go home, stretch out on the couch and enjoy the solitude.

But for some reason, I couldn't seem to sit still. Pulling my sweater around my chest, I paced a circuit from the den into the kitchen and back again. My head ached in a pounding rhythm that seemed to keep time with my feet. Though my stomach rumbled loudly, I couldn't eat and ended up choking down a few bites of a chocolate chip cookie one of the boys had left on the counter.

Eventually I forced myself to stop and sit down. The stillness wrapped itself around me, the only sound the light hum of the refrigerator as it cycled on and off. Oddly enough, there is such a thing as too much peace and quiet. The solitary rooms only served to remind me of the emptiness I felt inside.

Luckily, such maudlin self-pity soon channeled itself into a more constructive purpose, and before long, I found myself traveling the familiar route to Georgetown. If Lee Stetson thought he could dismiss our relationship so lightly, the man had another think coming. Besides, I didn't buy that cockamamie story of his for one minute. He was up to something; I just couldn't figure out what.

My newfound resolve to confront him lasted only until I discovered that he was, indeed, at home. I'd been driving in circles ever since, trying to come to terms with the fact that my husband of four months apparently wanted to end our marriage. All because we were, in his words, "sexually incompatible."

The man's ego knew no bounds. Who the hell did he think he was, anyway—God's gift to women?

Of course, years ago, when I'd first met the Scarecrow, that's exactly what he'd thought. I could still see him at that crazy party, staring down at me from the top of the circular staircase with a supercilious smile. It was the middle of the afternoon, and the man was wearing a tuxedo! And there I stood, the naïve little housewife from the suburbs, dressed to kill in my best pair of slacks. No wonder I'd wanted to smack him.

But that man, the debonair playboy who changed his women as often as he changed his shirts, didn't really exist. As I'd slowly come to know Lee Stetson, the man, I'd discovered that his Scarecrow persona was only an illusion, one of the many masks he used to cover the sensitive little boy inside. Lee had already lost so much in his life; small wonder he refused to let anyone inside that protective shell of his.

I clutched the steering wheel. Maybe that's what this was really all about. His fear of losing everyone he loved. My accidental shooting had certainly reinforced that. Maybe . . . just maybe . . . Lee was attempting to cut his losses before they cut him.

There was only one way to find out. Summoning my courage, I left the safe haven of my car. It must have been later than I thought because the night doorman was on duty. Smiling a greeting to Henry, I took the elevator to the second floor and knocked on my husband's door.

He didn't answer. As I knocked again, the thought crossed my mind that maybe I was the world's biggest fool—he might not be alone. I felt my resolve waver, but only for the length of time it took to locate my key. Whatever was going on, this was my husband, my life. I had a definite need to know.

I held my breath and walked into the narrow foyer. The apartment was dark, save for the light coming from the bathroom, which was why at first I didn't see him slumped there on the couch. But I heard the noisy gulp as he swallowed whatever was in his glass.

As my eyes adjusted to the half-light, I saw that it was Scotch. The bottle sat accusingly on the coffee table, its cap slightly askew. Lee brought the glass to his lips again and downed the rest in one, quick swallow before finally looking up at me.

"You shouldn't have come, Amanda."

His voice sounded empty, his words slurred. His hair was damp from the shower and he was dressed, if you could call it that, in a pair of jogging shorts. Lee had evidently been indulging in a pity party of his own. However, seeing as this particular crisis was of his making, I was hard-pressed to dredge up any sympathy.

Letting out a short sigh, I tossed my purse on an empty chair then sat down and reached for the bottle. "Getting drunk is no way to deal with our problems," I began, but he didn't give me a chance to finish.

"I am not drunk," he said, taking care to enunciate slowly and plainly. "I am drinking. There is a difference."

"Not one that will be appreciable in the morning." I rolled my eyes. "Why don't I make you some coffee? Then we can talk."

"I don't want to talk," he replied, in a particularly nasty tone of voice, "and I sure as hell don't want to be mothered. So if you came over here to do either, Amanda, I suggest you go on home and practice those skills on your children."

He seemed more determined than ever to drive me away, but I refused to fall into his well-baited trap. "You have no idea why I came over here," I ground out, my teeth clenched so tightly that, for a moment, I thought they might crack.

He raised an eyebrow. "No? Well, I can't imagine anything else that would drag you all the way across town. Unless, of course, you take pleasure in watching me polish off some mighty fine Scotch. In which case," he said as he refilled his glass, "I think you're in luck."

I bit my lip; coming here had been a mistake. Lee's temporary insanity had evidently survived well into the evening. I certainly had no desire to subject myself to anymore of his insulting nonsense.

I stood stiffly and prepared to leave. I might have made it, too, if only I hadn't caught sight of his eyes. His bitter words might be shoving me away, but those hazel eyes of his told a different story. He needed help right now as surely as he had that morning at the train station. So I walked to the kitchen instead of the door, grabbed the nearest glass, and sat down beside him on the couch.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked as I poured myself a drink.

I tilted my head back and took a big gulp. "Exactly what it looks like," I managed to rasp through the burning sensation in my throat.

He snorted in disbelief and, too late, I realized I'd overplayed my hand. The only glass I'd been able to find was a tumbler, and, as Lee's eyes narrowed, I had no recourse but to call my own bluff. "Bottom's up," I quipped, looking him in the eye.

"Amanda," Lee said, suddenly remarkably alert. "That's straight Scotch."

"So? You think I can't handle it?" I took another gulp. The stuff tasted terrible, but I was too angry to care.

"Amanda," Lee said once more, his voice softer now. "You don't drink Scotch."

"Yeah, well, according to you, I don't do a lot of things."

"A-man-da," he repeated, with a long-suffering sigh. "You don't want to do this. Give me the glass."

I shook my head, hugging my drink to my chest. A warm, fuzzy feeling was beginning to replace the cold anger that consumed me, and it felt good. "Maybe you don't know me quite as well as you think you do." I finished off the Scotch and set my glass on the coffee table.

"I think I know you well enough to realize that you don't weigh enough to swill down six ounces of Scotch without some pretty major side effects." Lee shook his head. "I'll bet you didn't eat any dinner, either."

The room swam in front of my eyes, and I felt myself sway. The sensation wasn't altogether unpleasant, though, and I found myself smiling as I sank back into Lee's comfortable couch. "A lot you know," I retorted, my words sounding oddly rounded. "I ate a really big cookie."

"I stand corrected." Lee whistled as he got to his feet. "Maybe that coffee isn't such a bad idea after all. Sit tight while I make a pot."

"Don't want to 'sit tight,'" I said, shaking my head as I stood up, too.

Lee rolled his eyes. "No, you never do. How about you humor me just this once, okay?"

I shook my head again, my eyes widening as I looked at him. I couldn't help but notice the interplay of muscles across his chest as he moved. They rippled so sensually beneath his skin that I couldn't stop myself; I had to touch him. Catching the tip of my tongue between my teeth, I slowly ran my hands over the smooth planes of his upper body.

"Amanda . . ."

The rough edge to his voice caused my breathing to quicken. I felt the room start to spin, or maybe it was just my head, and as Lee reached out to steady me, I leaned forcefully into him. The sudden shift in weight threw him off balance and we both fell onto the couch, my face pillowed on his chest. "I love the way you feel," I whispered, nuzzling against him.

"I'm gonna get you that coffee," he gasped.

"Don't leave," I whispered, and we both knew I wasn't only talking about the room. "I know you don't really want to."

Unable to stifle his response any longer, he groaned. The deep, guttural sound, pushed out from the back of his throat, gave me a strange sense of power. Sexually incompatible, huh? Before I was through with him, I'd make him choke on those words.

Lee closed his eyes and let out another short moan. "This can't change anything," he managed to pant out, as I stopped what I was doing just long enough to pull my sweater over my head and toss it to the floor. He started again to enumerate those ridiculous reasons why we shouldn't be together, but I was beyond listening. Tired of this ludicrous charade, I used my mouth to silence him.

I can only blame the Chivas Regal for what happened next. Or maybe it was his damning assessment of my libido that pushed me beyond the limits of normal restraint. Whatever the reason, I only knew that I'd never wanted any man more than I wanted Lee Stetson, and I wanted him to know it.

I kissed him long and hard. It was an incredible kiss, one that seemed to go on forever, and when I was finished, the last shreds of his resistance lay in tatters around us. My need for him suddenly seemed all-consuming, as did his for me. Hands fumbled with clothing, and when the narrow couch became too confining, we moved to the floor. I wanted him with every ounce of my being; his words had caused a huge ache deep inside of me that only his body could fill.

Lee's behavior told me he was equally affected. In a frantic attempt to get even closer, he pulled me solidly against him. I'd never seen him like this before, so desperate, almost out of control. And so silent. There were no murmured endearments, no breathlessly whispered "I love you's." Only the dark, burning look in his eyes that spoke of a passion he couldn't control. It was as if something was driving him from deep inside, some sinister, scary monster that he needed to best.

It frightened me.

But only for a moment. My trepidation quickly evaporated, replaced by the most intense pleasure I'd ever experienced. Our lovemaking had never been like this before, so wild, so full of delicious abandon. The sheer intimacy of it overwhelmed me. Lee pulled me closer, holding me tightly against him. Safe in his warm embrace, I let my eyes flutter shut. Just for a minute, I told myself; one minute's rest, then we'll talk this through and everything will be all right again.

I must have fallen asleep because, when I awoke, I found myself lying in our bed, the covers tucked up snugly around me. I instinctively reached out for Lee, but my fingers met nothing but emptiness. My head pounding and my mouth dry, it took me a minute to achieve a sitting position. I blinked a couple of times before my eyes adjusted to the dim light of early morning, but the result was still the same. The bedroom was deserted. Clearing my throat, I called out for Lee.

Silence answered me. Confused, I looked around the room again. It was a few more moments before I saw it there on the nightstand—the plain gold wedding band I'd slipped on my husband's finger, only four short months ago. It lay in solitary splendor on top of the paper on which he had scrawled two brief words . . .

"Forgive me."


	7. Part II Chapter 6

**II **

**__**

_"and when the sky is falling_

_what do we believe in_

_when everything we learned to trust_

_ turns around and makes a fool of us . . ."_ __

Friday, June 26, 1987 

10:15 a.m.

"I know I don't have to tell you how important the Congressional review process is to our budget this year, people, so I expect your expense reports to be in on time and in something resembling a professional format."

"That means no shoeboxes," Francine put in, repeating the tired inside joke with one eyebrow arched.

As everyone else laughed, I looked down at the table and studied my pen. The Friday morning staff meeting had been a long one, and I dreaded the announcement that was still to come. It would be a hellish end to an equally hellish week.

At least I didn't have to wait much longer. Billy cleared his throat, and I braced myself. "There's one more item of business before we adjourn," he said, shifting his weight from his right leg to his left. "Scarecrow has been reassigned to our London office."

Though I kept my eyes on the table, I could feel the curious stares of my coworkers. As my cheeks grew hot, I could barely hear Billy over the roaring in my ears. The few words I could make out took on an odd, tinny quality. "We have an opening in the Q-Bureau," my boss continued. "Anyone interested should see me by end of business today. It's crucial we fill that void as soon as possible."

I couldn't agree more. Perhaps that was the solution to my personal dilemma as well. Yeah, that was it; I'd just accept resumes for the vacant position of husband, too.

"That's all, people," Billy finished. Thankful he'd had the good taste not to single me out in the meeting, I prepared to head back to our—my—office.

My luck didn't hold. "Amanda," Billy called out, his tone unusually gentle. "I need to have a word with you."

"Yes, sir."

I followed him from the conference room into his office, keeping my head down as I crossed the bullpen. Word of Lee's departure was spreading rapidly, and I could guess what was going through my fellow agents' heads. I dreaded the inevitable questions that were sure to come.

"Sit down, Amanda," Billy was saying, indicating an empty chair. "I'll be with you in a minute."

I nodded and looked out the window as Mr. Melrose sorted through the papers on his desk. A small cluster of agents had already gathered at the far end of the room, and I had a feeling it wasn't the over-brewed coffee and stale doughnuts that drew them. As I'd feared, the talk had started already.

"Amanda . . ."

Embarrassed, I realized that my boss had been calling my name for some time. "I'm sorry, sir," I mumbled. "I guess I'm a little scattered this morning."

Billy's bushy brows drew together as he frowned. "I understand. I don't want to add to the confusion you must be feeling over everything that's happened, but I did want to take a minute to discuss your future at the Agency."

"My future, sir?" I wasn't civilian auxiliary anymore. He couldn't possibly be implying that my current employment hinged on Scarecrow's, could he?

"Yes." Unable to look me in the eye, he seemed to mutter the word to himself. It was almost as if he was embarrassed to face me, ashamed, even. Like a voyeur who'd been caught looking through someone's window and then had to face his victim. It was an odd image, and I don't know why it popped into my head. I'd never seen Billy Melrose so off-balance before.

He folded his hands behind his back and began to pace. "Since the Q-Bureau is going to be reassigned, I thought this might be a good opportunity for you to explore some other options," he began.

My eyes widened. Lee had just left my personal life in shambles; evidently he'd done the same to my professional life as well. Biting my lip, I forced myself to concentrate on what Billy was saying.

"Unfortunately, there aren't too many open positions at the moment. First year assignments have already been posted for our rookie class, and, as you know, you missed a few pivotal months of class work due to your, uh, accident in February."

I nodded and looked down at the rug. The term was more appropriate than Billy knew. My entire relationship with Lee had been nothing but a series of accidents. Too bad my emotional wounds wouldn't heal as completely as my physical ones.

"However," Billy went on, abandoning his pacing to sit in his chair, "since you do have more unofficial field experience than anyone else in your class, Dr. Smyth has decided to waive the missed course work and award you immediate field status. Congratulations, Amanda." He leaned across his desk and extended his hand. "You are now an officially qualified agent."

"Thank you, sir." Not knowing what else to say, I simply shook his hand. Dr. Smyth was doing me a favor? Life was getting stranger by the moment.

"Now, regarding your next assignment. As I said, there aren't too many options right now, but I think I've found a temporary solution. That is, if you'll agree to give it a try." Billy paused, swiveling his chair back and forth for a few moments. "The agent I have in mind has requested a change in assignment. This person has been going through some emotional turmoil, and I thought the two of you might be a good pairing. True, you have very different styles, but then so did you and—"

"Yes, sir," I rasped. "Which agent did you have in mind?"

He paused then said, "Agent Desmond."

"Francine?" My eyes widened. Though we'd been partnered occasionally, our working relationship had never been smooth.

My reaction must have shown on my face because Billy said, "Don't dismiss this idea out of hand. I know the two of you have had your differences, but Francine is a very good agent. She has the seniority you lack."

That might well be true, but the proposition was singularly unappealing. I couldn't think of anyone less suited to be my partner, and I had a feeling Francine felt the same way. "And she's agreed to work with me?" I asked, still reeling.

Billy pursed his lips and shook his head. "I intend to discuss it with her this afternoon."

Relief swept through me. Francine would never agree to it. I had a sneaking suspicion her resume would top the pile requesting assignment to the Q-Bureau, and Billy had just made it clear that remaining in the "Q" was not an option for me.

Billy seemed to read my mind. "Francine is in no shape to handle the added pressure of running the Q-Bureau right now. And both Dr. Smyth and I feel that a change of assignment would benefit your training as well."

I started to protest, but he cut me off. "Take the afternoon to think it over." He stood, indicating the interview was at an end. "I'll expect your decision in the morning."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," I said as I rose, too. "It's not that I don't appreciate the offer, it's just that . . ." The anger I'd managed to keep at bay began to swell again. Damn Lee Stetson anyway. How could he do this to me? He'd left me smack dab between that proverbial rock and a hard place.

Suddenly I couldn't leave the Agency fast enough. I got into my car, intending to go straight home, but I somehow ended up at the Mall instead. It was not quite noon; Mother would still be at the house, I reasoned, and the interminable questions I'd been dodging for the past week would undoubtedly begin all over again. How could I tell her why Lee had left when I didn't even understand it myself?

I walked along the edge of the reflecting pool, letting the summer sun warm my face. The day was unseasonably hot for June, reminiscent of that afternoon the previous summer when Lee and I . . .

Pushing those thoughts from my head, I paused for a moment to gaze up at the Washington Monument. The building had fascinated me as a child. I'd always had the feeling that it belonged in some fairy tale, that its long, sleek lines were pointing to some hidden place in the sky. But I was an adult now, and the answers I sought weren't secreted behind some transient cloud. There was no magic talisman that could suddenly make things right.

Turning away from the Monument, I forced myself to walk in the opposite direction. Too late I realized that I'd made a mistake coming here. Though I'd purposely avoided the Jefferson Memorial, the memories were still there, everywhere I turned. Like that nagging little voice in the back of my mind, the one that kept telling me I should have listened to Scarecrow all those years ago. Once a lone wolf, always a lone wolf.

Mentally shaking myself again, I put a stop to that train of thought once and for all. Fueling my anger wouldn't help me now—there would be time enough for that when I finally got my hands on my husband. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that, no matter how it looked, Lee had not walked away from our marriage. There were too many holes in that lame cover story he'd tried so hard to sell me. And if I'd had any lingering doubts about that, what had just transpired in Billy's office had put them to rest once and for all.

Dr. Smyth would never agree to promote me to full agent status, just like that. As our revered Director of Covert Operations was so fond of reminding us, he'd written the book on Agency procedures and, by God, he intended to follow it to the letter.

Then there was Billy's extraordinary idea of partnering me with Francine. It was almost as if he was trying to make some sort of amends by assigning me to an agent whose clearance was almost as high as Lee's. Not to mention that he appeared to be giving me a choice in the matter instead of simply handing out the assignment. Yes, whatever was going on here, one thing I was sure of—Lee had left me because he didn't have a choice.

Sitting down on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, I once again went over what had happened. First, the obvious. Lee had vanished sometime early Sunday morning, between the hours of two and five, as best I could fix the time. Not one of his informants had the remotest inkling of where he'd gone, of that I was convinced, for I'd spent the better part of the week questioning each one extensively. What's more, my husband had evidently wanted me to believe that he was dissatisfied with our sex life, a fact that, in lieu of what had transpired between us on Saturday night, now seemed more unbelievable than ever.

Less obvious was the reason why. I'd hoped Billy could help me with that, but when I'd confronted him regarding Lee's disappearance, he'd sworn he was equally in the dark. Lee had called him to demand an immediate transfer, Billy told me, and would only say that he had to get out of D.C. to get some perspective on his life. Billy had allegedly arranged for him to work in the London office.

When all my attempts to reach him there proved fruitless, I'd enlisted the help of our good friend and fellow agent Emily Farnsworth. She reported that she, too, had been unsuccessful in locating Lee. Whenever she called at the Agency, he was conveniently "in a conference." What's more, the only trace of him she'd found at the modest flat he'd rented was a closet full of assorted shirts, pants and jackets, all pressed and hanging in a row. Such an alarming predilection for neatness could only mean one thing—and if Billy was lying about Scarecrow's whereabouts, then whatever Lee was doing, it was on Agency orders. More than likely, the inimitable Dr. Smyth was behind it all.

I needed answers. To get them, I'd require access to the Agency databanks and a heck of a lot higher clearance than I currently held. Pirating Lee's codes wasn't an option—the ones I had access to would certainly be flagged.

The thought of working with Francine was becoming more attractive by the minute. As Billy was so quick to point out, she did have the seniority I lacked. Maybe—just maybe—this new partnership would work out after all.


	8. Part II Chapter 7

Friday, July 24, 1987 

11:57 p.m.

It was late when I finally left the Baltimore Conference Center and nearly midnight by the time I pulled into my driveway. I'd taken the long way home again in an attempt to clear my thoughts, a habit I'd picked up from Lee. Whenever he was stumped by a case, he always swore taking to the open road helped him sort things out.

It didn't seem to help me, though. I was still as confused and angry over Lee's departure as I had been on that morning I'd awakened to find myself alone in his apartment. Yet I was more convinced than ever that he was working some case, perhaps undercover. Why hadn't he confided in me? I wasn't only his wife—I was his partner.

Despite my best efforts, I still hadn't been able to contact him. My frequent calls to the London office brought only the standard "Scarecrow is unavailable" line. Mr. Melrose supposedly received a weekly phone call from him but, as far as I could tell, our section chief was the only one who heard from Lee Stetson. And when I'd asked to be present the next time Scarecrow checked in, Billy had given me some song and dance about time zones and changing schedules.

As if that wasn't suspicious enough, in the four weeks I'd been working with Francine, I'd been unable to locate the tiniest scrap of information on Scarecrow in our system files. It was almost as if he didn't exist any more, and I couldn't help but remember that day we'd visited Kai's grieving family. How had Lee put it? That I could end up just like Kai's wife one day, searching for answers about what had happened to my dead husband, struggling to sort out the truth from the lies. His words seemed almost prophetic now.

Except I was certain my husband wasn't dead. And that meant it wasn't too late to help him.

But I couldn't do anything without information. If Billy knew something, he wasn't talking. I never lost an opportunity to question him, but, no matter what method I employed, the answer was always the same. Scarecrow had settled in quite nicely in London.

Too bad the same couldn't be said for me. Working with Francine was challenging, to say the least. She never lost an opportunity to remind me that she was the senior agent. Everything was "need to know" with her. The woman had even refused to tell me her code name. It was only the faint hope that working as her partner might yet shed some light on Lee's situation that kept me going.

I was thankful our current project had come to a successful close. Francine and I had been in charge of security at the week long Anti-Terrorism Symposium in Baltimore. Though the daily commute had been a grind, I'd been as enthusiastic about receiving the plum assignment as Francine had been.

My first major detail without Scarecrow both challenged and saddened me. While I was excited by the opportunity to prove myself as an agent in my own right, not having him by my side made everything that much more difficult. Scarecrow and Mrs. King had honed their partnership to perfection over the years. I wondered if Lee felt the loss as well. He tended to be reckless at times; I could only pray that his new partner would be equally adept at watching his back.

At least the conference had kept me too busy to worry about him, or so I kept telling myself. I found the workshops fascinating. Some of the world's leading experts were on site, including Merchisson from Paris and the even more illustrious British authority, Frederick Crumwald. His Special Forces team had infiltrated and eliminated more terrorist cells than any other unit. Rumor had it that he was in town not only to attend the conference, but also to meet with a special Presidential Commission.

My brief involvement with our own anti-terrorist unit, the ATAC team, had made me curious about Crumwald's methods. Unfortunately, I'd missed his presentation, thanks in large part to Francine, who had insisted I personally supervise the installation of some additional security cameras that she deemed absolutely essential. She really was the most trying partner. No wonder my stomach had been so tied up in knots lately that everything I ate made me queasy.

I was still feeling a little nauseated when I walked into the kitchen, and the lingering smell of spaghetti sauce didn't improve matters. Mother had obviously been experimenting with the garlic again. I gave myself a little shake. I must be more tired than I thought; no doubt I would feel like myself again after a good night's sleep. Thinking about how wonderful it would feel to crawl into bed, I trudged toward the stairs.

"Amanda, is that you?" I jumped at the unexpected sound, and Mother rushed to my side. "I'm sorry, darling. I didn't mean to startle you."

"That's okay," I managed to croak, my heart still in my throat. "But I think I really am going to get you that bell. You're getting much too good at sneaking up on me."

"That's only because you have your head in the clouds these days," Mother said as she rubbed my back.

I shrugged. "I just have a lot on my mind, that's all."

"Well, I think you're working too hard. These late nights are becoming a bad habit with you, Amanda. The boys and I barely see you any more."

"My work load is really heavy right now. I've got a new boss and that's always hard," I said, hoping to limit our usual game of twenty questions to one or two.

"I'm sure it is, dear." Mother cocked her head. "I was about to fix one of my special milk and Galliano drinks. Care to join me?"

I opened my mouth to plead a headache, but the wistful look on Mother's face stopped me. These weeks without Lee had taught me the true meaning of loneliness; I could hardly fail to recognize a kindred spirit when I saw one. "Maybe I'll have a drink at that." I put an arm around her shoulder. "But make mine straight milk. That Galliano concoction of yours is a little too strange for my tastes."

Mother smiled. "Okay. But you don't know what you're missing."

"I'll take your word for it," I said, chuckling as I took a seat at the table. The sight of Mother bustling about the kitchen as she fixed our late night treat suddenly made me feel like a little girl again. We had always had such a close relationship while I was growing up, maybe because I was an only child. She was my friend as well as my mother. I suddenly longed to confide in that old friend now, the same way I'd done all those years ago when something troubled me.

She seemed to sense I had something on my mind. "So how is this new boss of yours working out?" she asked as she sat down beside me.

I sipped my milk. "It's . . . difficult. She isn't an easy person to work with. I guess she has her good points, but I haven't figured out what they are yet."

"Well, if anyone can do that, it's you, Amanda. You have a gift for bringing out the best in people."

"It just seems so hard sometimes. Her style is so different from . . ." I stopped myself, unable to say his name.

Her cool blue eyes met mine. "You still haven't heard from Lee?"

Biting my lip, I shook my head. "He's in London on some special assignment for IFF. I don't expect to hear from him until it's finished."

Mother raised an eyebrow. "They don't have phones in London?"

I sighed. "It doesn't work like that, Mother. IFF—"

"Yes, I'm familiar with the drill by now. 'IFF works for the government and the government has secrets.'" Mother's eyes narrowed as she stared at me. "And so do you, I think."

"Mother—"

She cut me off with a wave of her hand. "I'm not asking you to tell me anything you shouldn't. I'm a native of this crazy town, darling, and, believe me, I'm well aware of what goes on. I just want you to know that I'm here for you, if you should ever need to . . . talk."

My eyes widened. My mother never ceased to amaze me. I wondered how much she really knew about IFF and how much was conjecture. Well, she'd given me tacit permission to keep my secrets; I suppose she had a right to keep hers, too.

"I only have one more thing to say to you," she continued, "and then we'll drop this subject. I got to know Lee pretty well out in California. Life and death situations breed a strange kind of intimacy, I guess."

"I guess they do at that," I agreed, recalling the many times during my convalescence that I'd awoken to that same look of gentle concern in my mother's eyes.

"He's very different from the other men you've dated."

"Lee would never hurt me," I began, but stopped myself. Wasn't that exactly what he'd done? Even if he was on assignment, he hadn't trusted me enough to confide in me. And, no matter what spin I tried to put on that, it still hurt.

"Sometimes things happen that are beyond a person's control," Mother said, as if reading my mind. "But that's not my point."

I crossed my arms and looked away. "Then what are you trying to say?"

I felt the gentle pat of her hand on my shoulder. "I saw how Lee was with you . . . how the two of you were together. And I also saw how he was acting the night we had his little birthday celebration. Something was obviously bothering him. But . . ." She took a deep breath and gave my arm a harder squeeze. "That man is in love with you, darling. I'm as sure of that as I am of my own name. He'll be back."

Tears suddenly filled my eyes. "Thank you, Mother," I whispered. "I think I needed to hear someone say that."

"I thought maybe you did. And now," she gave me a significant glance, "I'm heading off to bed."

I let out a short laugh. "I'm right behind you, Mother, don't worry. I just need to figure out where I left my purse." I looked around, searching for the elusive bag I'd been misplacing all day.

"It's right here on the counter," Mother informed me with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "Honestly, Amanda, I haven't seen you this absent-minded since you were expecting Jamie." Cupping my face, she planted a light kiss on my forehead. "Goodnight, darling."

My voice faltered a little as I wished her sweet dreams, but she apparently had the good grace not to notice. I sat and watched her leave the room, listening for the sound of her feet on the stairs long after the noise had died away. I rose at last and started to follow her, but my churning stomach forced me to sit back down again.

Swallowing hard, I tried not to look at the refrigerator, but the large calendar drew my eyes like a magnet. There was no need to panic, I told myself as I mentally counted off the days. There could be any number of perfectly plausible explanations. Breathing deeply, I did the math again. I'd certainly been under enough stress. Stress . . . yeah, that had to be it, I repeated, stubbornly clinging to that thought as I marked off the days one final time.

But when I came up with the same answer each time, all I could do was to gasp out a breathless, "Oh . . . my . . . gosh!"


	9. Part II Chapter 8

Thursday, July 30, 1987 

5:15 p.m.

"Amanda, I need to add our notes to the summary of the ATS, but I can't locate the file."

"That's because I haven't typed it yet, Francine." I gritted my teeth. "I've had my hands full with these emergency background checks you handed me. Billy wants them first thing tomorrow, remember?"

"Well, he wants the updated information on the Anti-Terrorism Symposium tonight," my partner informed me. "He has a dinner meeting with Dr. Smyth. How do you expect me to add our recommendations to the secure file if they're not typed?"

"I know this might be a novel approach, but you could do it yourself." I waged a losing battle to keep my irritation out of my voice. "Or is typing too mundane a task for such a senior agent?"

Her eyes rounded as her eyebrows shot up. "Well, well, there is a sharp tongue beneath that oh-so-sweet exterior. Tell me, dear, is that what sent Scarecrow running off to London?"

I'd grown adept at sidestepping Francine's snide remarks, but that one touched a very raw nerve. Shaking with anger, I started to bite out an equally nasty retort when suddenly the feeling hit me. Taking a few quick breaths, I pushed up from my desk. "Excuse me," I croaked, heading out of the bullpen at a brisk run. I knew better than to let myself get so upset. It only served to churn my stomach, leading to the inevitable consequence.

Thankfully the ladies' lounge was empty. Racing for the nearest stall, I promptly lost my lunch and what was left of my breakfast. As I made my way to the sink on shaky legs, I glanced at my watch. Yes, pretty much right on schedule. I wondered vaguely if you could still call this "morning" sickness when it occurred so late in the afternoon.

I really needed to stop putting off that visit to the doctor. I'd been procrastinating for the better part of the week, and it didn't take a genius to figure out why. As long as my condition hadn't been officially confirmed, I could still pretend that maybe—just maybe—what I grew more certain of every day wasn't true.

I finished rinsing my mouth then reached for a paper towel. Wetting it, I pressed it first to my forehead, then to the back of my neck, all the while taking a series of slow, deep breaths. A few minutes passed and I gradually started to feel better; a few more and I'd surely be able to return to my desk and deal with Francine.

Unfortunately, she seemed to have other ideas. "Amanda, are you in here?" she called, sticking her head through the door.

Her voice sounded strangely hesitant, but it still set my nerves on edge. I braced my hands on the edge of the sink, willing the returning nausea to subside. "I'll be right out, Francine."

Instead of picking up on my less than subtle hint, she marched into the bathroom. I could barely stop my exasperated groan; you'd think such a superior agent would recognize a plea for privacy when she heard one. But instead of the look of grand hauteur I'd come to expect in her eyes, I saw only concern.

"Are you okay?" she asked, almost shyly. "When you ran out of the bullpen, I was worried."

"Yeah, I'm okay." I modulated my tone. After the way she'd treated me, she didn't deserve it, but I couldn't help myself. Her oddly erratic behavior in some ways reminded me of Lee.

Francine took it as an invitation to take charge again. "You don't look okay, Amanda," she pronounced after checking me out from head to toe. "You look like you need to sit down."

I let her lead me over to the small sofa in the corner of the lounge. As I sank down, I realized that she'd been right. Leaning back, I shut my eyes. When I opened them a few minutes later, I was a little aggravated to find Francine still beside me.

"Look," she began, her tone uncharacteristically conciliatory, "I didn't mean to . . . well, sometimes I let myself get a little carried away, you know, and . . . well . . . say things that . . ." She broke off with a moan. "Oh, I don't know, Amanda, I'm really not very good at this at all."

I arched my brows. "At apologizing?"

"Yeah, that, too." She twisted her mouth into a sour smile.

"This . . . situation . . . isn't easy exactly for me, either," I told her after a minute. Part of me wanted to let her off the hook, but another part clung to my hostility. It felt good. "You know, I'm supposed to be working with you, not for you, Francine."

She shook her head, obviously chagrined. "I guess I'm not much of a bargain as a replacement partner, am I?"

My mouth twitched as I fought a smile. "You could say that."

"Yeah." She rolled her eyes. "I know I'm not always . . . well, easy to get along with. And I can be a little, uh, inflexible at times."

I coughed. "Inflexible?"

"Maybe even rigid." As my eyes widened, Francine bit her lip. "Okay, okay, I'll admit it. I'm a royal pain in the rear."

"Thank you," I said, with a large grin.

Francine leaned back against the couch and studied the ceiling. "That remark I made earlier, about Lee . . . it was uncalled for. I haven't been in the best of moods since Jonathan walked out on me, and I took it out on you. I really am sorry, Amanda."

I gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. "We all deal with pain in different ways, I guess."

She nodded, her eyes growing large and liquid as she looked at me. "I was just so sure this time that things were going to work out. I wanted so badly to believe he was a different man. But the minute the going got rough, what did he do? He took off again. I guess people don't change as much as you think they do."

When I didn't answer, her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, Amanda, I wasn't talking about . . ."

I nodded, and, leaning closer to me, she dropped her voice. "For what it's worth, Lee's leaving like that took me by surprise, too."

I swallowed hard and managed a, "Yeah."

Francine's expression softened. "You know, maybe this is out of line, too, but I'm going to say it anyway. I've known Lee Stetson for a long time. I've never seen him care about anyone the way he cared about you. I remember when he called from California to say that you'd been shot, the man was practically a basket case. And afterwards, while we were working together, he told me that you were one in a million. In his own way, he loved you, I'm certain of it."

My cheeks suddenly felt damp, and I wiped the tears away. Mother had said practically the same thing to me, and I hadn't reacted this way. Somehow, hearing the words coming from Francine unraveled the tight knots I'd crafted to keep my emotions in check. "You haven't heard from him, have you?" I asked, holding my breath as I waited for the answer.

"No. I've tried to call him a few times, but he's always out of the office. I miss him, too. We've been friends for a long time."

I sat up straighter. "I haven't been able to reach him, either. Doesn't it strike you as a little odd that he's never around?"

"Amanda." She put a timid hand on my arm, as if she wasn't much in the habit of comforting people. "I know what you're thinking, but Lee's a master at avoiding people he doesn't want to talk to. Trust me, I speak from experience here. When we . . . well, when I got a little too serious about him, he took an assignment in Germany for six months. No one heard from him then, either."

When I didn't respond to that, she cleared her throat and looked at her watch. "It's after five. Why don't you call it a day? I can finish up those notes and get the file to Billy."

"You'll never finish it on time, Francine. You really are a lousy typist," I added, with a smile.

"I'll admit it isn't my best talent," she said with a grin of her own.

Palms on my knees, I pushed off the couch. "I'll do it. Just give me a few minutes to get our notes together."

"Okay." She rose, too. "Thank you, I do appreciate it." She hesitated for a fraction of a second before removing a card from the back of her I.D. "Here, use my clearance to transfer the notes directly into the secure file. It'll save time."

I willed my fingers not to tremble as I reached for the card. "Thanks, Francine." I managed to add, in a voice that sounded remarkably casual, "Do you want to wait while I finish up or . . .?"

She shook her head, a slightly guilty look on her face. "I'd like to get out of here a little early for once, if that's okay. It's been a really rotten day. Just hold onto that until tomorrow, if you don't mind."

My lips curved into a half-smile. "No, Francine, I don't mind at all."


	10. Part II Chapter 9

Thursday, July 30, 1987

6:37 p.m.

_The metal cot is supported by chains that hang from the ceiling, hinged at one edge to the wall. It's hard and cold, but I don't care. I'm tired, so tired; all I want to do is escape into the blessed relief of sleep. But every time I try, it begins all over again. _

_Something stirs on the edges of my consciousness. My eyes pop open, and relief floods through me, palpable, almost a living thing. I smile as Lee's face fills my entire line of vision. Everything will be okay now. He's come to take me home._

_"I love you, Lee," I whisper, my voice hoarse. "Do you know how much I love you?"_

_He doesn't speak, his image dissolving into little more than a soft shimmer as he disappears. "Lee?" I call out, confused. "Lee? Where are you?"_

_An echoing crash draws my attention to the door. It isn't Lee, after all. It's him. It's Addi Birol._

_"If he was going to answer you, Amanda, he would have by now." His voice is deeply accented. I hate the sound; it sends a chill straight through me._

_As he leans closer, I can smell his breath, stale and sour. His hands stroke over my face, stop to caress my throat. "Is it sore?" he asks with a grin, as his fingers increase their pressure. "You've been screaming in your sleep."_

_Though my hands are bound behind my back, I somehow I manage to pull away. "I'm just a reporter for CSN," I tell him for what must be the thousandth time. "Check my credentials."_

_"Oh, I intend to." His hands begin to roam over me again, across my shoulders and down my sides to my hips. "I intend to check your credentials most thoroughly, Amanda."_

_"Amanda . . ."_

"Amanda . . ."

Breathing hard, I jerked to my feet, my eyes staring straight ahead, unseeing.

"Amanda," the voice repeated again, its tone gentler now. "Are you okay?"

Startled, I looked around, blinking a few times to bring everything into focus. But instead of that sterile room with its stark white walls, there were only cubicles and desks, a telex, and a familiar eagle's profile beyond the glass doors. Sweet relief washed over me again, but this time the feeling was real.

"Let me get you a glass of water." The soothing voice spoke once more, and I suddenly realized it belonged to Beaman, of all people.

"No," I managed to choke out. "Really, Effrom, I'm fine. Everything's okay."

"Are you sure? Let me call Scare—" He stopped himself, focusing his eyes on the floor. "Francine," he finished, obviously embarrassed over his gaffe. "I could call Francine."

"No, really," I said, a little too quickly. "I'm okay. I was just working up some notes on the Anti-Terrorism Symposium and, well, I guess I drifted off."

"I see." His voice hardened as understanding dawned.

Beaman was obviously still nursing a grudge about what went down in the aftermath of the Birol incident. I suppose I really couldn't blame him. I hadn't intended to lose it like that, in front of the entire freshman class, but I just couldn't seem to help myself. I guess my nerves were still on edge at the time, my emotions fragile, too close to the surface.

Still, what happened was as much Beaman's fault as mine, and I stubbornly refused to shoulder all the blame. While his role as freshman supervisor might have given him access to my debriefing tapes, it didn't give him the right to lodge a formal protest on my behalf regarding Scarecrow's decision to use a freshman candidate as part of the strike team.

Billy had, of course, refused to file the complaint. Eventually word of the exchange had filtered down to me through the rumor mills, and I'd felt compelled to tell Beaman exactly what I thought of him, in no uncertain terms. I probably should have handled it more professionally, at least waited until we had a modicum of privacy, but he'd made me so angry I could barely see straight. Lee already felt guilty enough that he'd failed to protect me; we didn't need a desk jockey like Effrom Beaman to rub salt into both our wounds. Besides, Lee might have been the strike team leader, but my CSN front was part of the established cover; Billy had approved it.

But that was in the past now, over and forgotten. As Beaman turned to me, I arranged my face in what I hoped was a smile. "Thank you, Effrom, but I really am fine. It's just been a long day, and it's time I got out of here. Goodnight."

I shut down my station and headed out the door before he could respond. With a nod to the guard, I hurried to the elevator, my heart pounding in my chest. Despite everything, Birol's face still floated in front of me, so real I'd swear I could touch it. A violent shudder passed through me; I hadn't had a flashback of that intensity in quite some time.

The trigger was the notes on Crumwald's presentation, of course. "The New Terror: Myth or Reality?" I understood now why Francine had suddenly decided we needed those extra security cameras. Once again, I'd misjudged her. She hadn't been overbearing at all; on the contrary, she'd been surprisingly sensitive. Indeed, Crumwald had painted an all too vivid picture. Sleep deprivation, disorientation, psychotically induced terror . . . he'd brought it all crashing back. Suddenly I was there again, in that house in Maryland, staring into the soul-piercing black eyes of Addi Birol. If mere text could reduce me to such a state, I could only imagine my reaction if I'd had to hear it described in agonizing detail.

As I stepped into the elevator, I willed my hands to stop shaking. Birol couldn't hurt me now. He was in a maximum security prison, his Karbala terror squad destroyed. Breathing deeply, I mumbled the oft-repeated words of comfort. "Amanda King, you are the best, the bravest . . ." But they sounded hollow when I said them this time. Without Lee's strong arms around me, I didn't feel brave at all—only vulnerable and alone.

The doors opened onto the Georgetown foyer, and I somehow propelled myself forward. Though I had intended to leave, I found myself drawn to the familiar steps leading up to the Q-Bureau. An overpowering sensation of loneliness swept over me as I stood at the base of those stairs. I ached for Lee, deep inside, the feeling so strong it was almost physical.

Unable to stop myself, I began to climb the stairs. I don't know what I expected to accomplish, exactly. I only knew that I needed to be in a place where I could just sit and think, where I could let the memories of Lee sweep through me, if only for a little while. The Q-Bureau had been our private refuge. Though it had been reassigned, I still felt as if it belonged to us, to Scarecrow and Mrs. King. I still had my key. Just a few minutes, I told myself; no one need ever know.

But the room wasn't empty.

I heard them as soon as I opened the landing door. Little more than a blur at first, the words took on shape and form as I crept closer. It was Mr. Melrose, I realized in a flash. And he was definitely not happy.

"No matter what kind of convoluted spin you try to put on this, it's just plain wrong," Billy was saying, his voice rising to emphasize his point.

Someone laughed. "You're getting much too sentimental, Melrose. If you can't play ball with the big boys, maybe it's time we sent you back to the minor leagues."

If I'd had any doubts, that settled it. The man Billy was arguing with was definitely our own Dr. Smyth.

"There's nothing sentimental about cold hard facts," Billy countered, his words steely now. "You read that file, too. Under the circumstances, she had a need—no, a right—to know!"

"A 'right,' Billy? How quaint."

I bit my lip. Dr. Smyth was angry, too. He sounded even more coldly contemptuous than usual, if that was possible.

"I want your permission to brief her."

"Absolutely not," Smyth shot back, all pretense of joviality dropping as he finally let his anger ripple through his words. "I decide who needs to know in this outfit, Billy my boy, not you. This is a matter of national security."

"Which will not be served if my agent gets his head blown off." Billy let out a deep sigh. "You didn't see him when he left. I don't know what went down, but he could barely think straight, let alone take care of business. Even now, I can hear something in his voice. The man is stretched to the limit."

"Balderdash," Smyth snapped. "He's more than capable."

Billy evidently decided to take a different tack. "With all due respect, Dr. Smyth," he said, his tone deferential now, "I've had years of experience running field operations. He needs to be more than 'capable' to deal with this new Arbaalk threat."

"Arbaalk." The word struck a familiar chord, but I couldn't seem to place it. Shaking my head, I refocused my attention on Dr. Smyth. His words sounded strange; he must have that silly cigarette holder in his mouth.

"Don't worry, Melrose," he said, with a laugh. "If anything happens, we'll just stuff some fresh straw into the boy, that's all."

I frowned. Straw . . . Scarecrow! I should have been able to stop myself, but the words seemed to somehow leave my mouth of their own volition as I mumbled, "Oh my gosh!"

Inside the Q-Bureau, the conversation abruptly ceased. "Did you hear something?" Dr. Smyth demanded. "I thought we were supposed to be alone up here, Melrose, and . . ."

I didn't wait to hear the end of his sentence. With a speed that would have put Scarecrow to shame, I executed a quick avoidance pattern and made my escape. I could feel my heart pounding wildly again as I reached the safety of the elevator, but this time from excitement, not fear. "Arbaalk . . ."

I suddenly realized why it seemed so familiar. It was the same nonsense word I'd seen in the file Lee had been so secretive about, the one he'd been studying on that fateful night I'd tracked him to Bethesda. I closed my fingers around Francine's clearance card. At least now I had a place to start.

Feeling more hopeful than I had in weeks, I headed back to the bullpen and my computer.


	11. Part III Chapter 10

**III **

**__**

_"oh my tender dreams i_

_gave them such fragile wings and i _

_sent them up to heaven_

_but heaven was just too high_

_and i watched them falter against the sky . . ."_

**__**

Saturday, August 22, 1987

7:52p.m.

It hit me just as I reached the base of the stairs. Putting my hand on the railing, I closed my eyes and waited for the nausea to pass. This week, I promised myself. I'd make another appointment with the doctor this week. And this time I'd keep it.

Breathing deeply to settle my rebellious stomach, I glanced down at my watch. No wonder the house was so quiet; it was almost eight o'clock. Mother must be off to her bridge game with Mr. Johanssen by now.

I hadn't really intended to nap so long, but I couldn't seem to help myself. Lately, I was always exhausted, emotionally as well as physically. When I wasn't worrying about Lee, I was staying late at the Agency, using the back door I'd created into the computer to probe into the mysterious Arbaalk.

So far my efforts hadn't turned up anything concrete. When resources within our own agency had drawn a blank, I'd even attempted a global search on our outside servers, but to no avail. I was beginning to suspect that the name "Arbaalk" was nothing but a red herring. Some sort of code, most likely, used to cover the tracks of another organization.

That would definitely complicate matters. If I couldn't break the code, I'd have no alternative but to confront my section chief and demand that information he seemed to think I had a right to know. So far, only the knowledge that I'd most certainly be asking Billy to compromise his national security oath had held me in check. No, I couldn't in good conscience ask him to do that. Better to discover the information on my own and give him no choice but to confirm it.

I did feel more than a little guilty about "borrowing" Francine's access codes, though, especially since she was making an effort to treat me as a real partner. Our conversation that day in the ladies' lounge had marked a new beginning for us. At one time I'd even flirted with the idea of enlisting her help, but had ultimately decided against it. It was one thing to risk my own career, quite another to ask my partner to put hers in jeopardy as well.

My brief attack of "evening sickness," as I'd come to call it, finally passed, and I made my way into the den. The boys had left the room in disarray, their shoes on the floor, the Scrabble game they'd been playing strewn over the coffee table. I frowned as I started to pick up; I distinctly remembered asking them to clean up their mess before they left to spend the evening with their dad.

"You're finally up, I see. I thought maybe you were going to sleep the night away."

"Mother!" I exclaimed as I caught my breath. "I didn't realize you were home."

"Yes, well, I just didn't feel up to bridge tonight. Mr. Johanssen is a nice man, but he can be a trying partner. He can't seem to keep track of the cards." She studied me more closely. "You look pale, Amanda."

"I'm fine, Mother," I responded automatically.

"Mmm-hmm," she murmured, clearly not buying any of it. "Leave that mess and sit down. I'm going to get you a cup of tea."

Too tired to argue, I dropped down on the couch. "Joe came for the boys an hour earlier than scheduled," Mother explained from the kitchen. "Something about a change in the dinner reservations, I think."

I let out a small groan as I suddenly remembered. Joe's future in-laws were in town for the weekend, and he'd wanted the boys to meet them. "That's my fault, not his," I told her. "He called yesterday about the change in plans, and it totally slipped my mind."

"Yes, I've noticed how absent-minded you've been lately." Mother reappeared at my side. Pushing the Scrabble board aside, she placed a cup of tea and a small plate of soda crackers on the coffee table. Raising an eyebrow, she looked at me. "I thought they might help that queasy stomach of yours."

"Thanks," I croaked, then quickly turned away. I couldn't meet her eyes; they knew too much.

I felt the slight depression in the couch cushions as she sat down beside me. Resting her hand on my shoulder, she gave me a reassuring squeeze. "Amanda, you know how much I love you, don't you?" she began, her voice soothing and low. "You're my only child. I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

"I know, Mother." My voice shook as tears filled my eyes. "You've really been wonderful. I know I don't tell you often enough, but I couldn't have made it without you these past few years. Moving in here, helping me with the boys—"

"That helped me as much as it did you. After your father died, well, those boys gave me a new lease on life."

"Yeah, but they're older now," I murmured, almost to myself. "They don't tie you down as much as they did when they were little."

Mother laughed. "Trust me, darling, that was the easy part. Pretty soon we're going to have two full-fledged teenagers on our hands, and the fun will really start. Asking for the car keys, breaking curfew, hiding their best friends in our attic—"

"I was only eleven when I did that."

Mother's lips curved into a smile. "Yes, well, you always were a precocious child."

The room grew silent as our brief laughter died away. Shifting in my seat, I looked up at the ceiling, but there weren't any answers there, either. "You've given up so much of your independence to help me, Mother," I said at last. "You've earned the right to relax a little . . . travel, maybe . . . have some fun."

"Traveling isn't all it's cracked up to be." Mother smiled wryly. "Remember what happened to poor Edna Gilstrap when she took that Caribbean cruise? Let me tell you, Amanda, 'Montezuma's Revenge' is not a pretty sight."

I smiled in spite of myself. "No, I guess not."

"Sweetheart." Mother's expression grew serious, and she reached for my hand. "I've loved having the privilege of helping my grandchildren grow up. Every minute I've spent with them has been a treasure, and," she cast a significant glance in my direction, "if I was lucky enough to get the chance, I'd do it all over again."

I looked up into her eyes. There was no judgment in them, no reproach, just the same steady love that had supported me all my life. How strange that, in the end, that was my undoing. I'd held myself together through everything else—the hurtful recriminations Lee had thrown in my face, the cold emptiness I'd felt that morning when I realized he'd walked out, the awful uncertainty of the past few months. But the unconditional acceptance I found in my mother's eyes was simply too much.

I cried. Really cried, for the first time since Lee left. I couldn't seem to stop. The harsh sobs, torn from a place deep inside me, kept coming like unstoppable waves. I felt my mother's arms slip around me, holding me against her. "It's okay, baby, it'll be okay," she murmured over and over, all the while rocking me, just as she'd done when I was a child. I felt like a child again, crawling into that comfortable embrace, trusting that the woman who held me could make everything okay.

But I wasn't a child. And she couldn't make this right; only Lee could do that.

But, of course, he wasn't here. He'd left me. Oh, I had no doubt it was on Agency orders, but the end result was the same. I couldn't believe the irony of it. Once again, I had a husband who had put his career before his marriage. And this one hadn't even had the courtesy to discuss it with me beforehand, hadn't seen fit to give me the basic trust a husband owed his wife.

As I stiffened in my mother's arms, she let out a harsh sigh. "Oh, if I could get my hands on Lee Stetson right now, I'd wring his neck!"

We were in perfect agreement. "I'm afraid you'll have to stand in line," I told her, wiping the tears from my face as I pulled away.

Mother looked as if she wanted to say something, but somehow managed to restrain herself. She reached into her pocket, instead, and handed me a tissue.

"Thanks." I blew my nose and tried to pull myself together. "I'll be fine in a minute." Oddly enough, that was true. I was beginning to feel better already. Letting go like that was cathartic.

"Does he have any idea?" she asked, in a low voice.

I shook my head. "I don't even know for sure. I haven't actually seen a doctor yet."

"You know, Amanda, they do sell those home kits at the drugstore."

"I guess I'm too much of a coward to buy one. It could just be stress . . ."

Mother's eyebrows shot up as she fixed me in her gaze. I could see she didn't buy that line of reasoning any more than I did.

"This is my fault, not Lee's," I said, though why I suddenly needed to defend him, I had no idea.

Mother wasn't buying that, either. "I see," she said, folding her arms across her chest. "You did this all by yourself. That must be one for the record books."

I sucked in a harsh breath. "It's . . . complicated."

"Yes, it usually is. I take it that means you still haven't heard from him."

"No. I've been trying to locate him on my own, but every lead turns into a dead end."

I felt the gentle pressure of her hand on my knee. "Maybe it's time you asked for help then, from one of your government friends. That Mr. Melrose, maybe?"

"Yeah," I said, with a quick nod. "I think maybe you're right, Mother."

Though her words seemed to imply she knew the truth, I realized she was just whistling in the dark. The time for secrecy was clearly over, but I still couldn't find the words to tell her about my other life. I'd have to do it sooner or later, I told myself. She deserved to know the truth—just not tonight. I was simply too worn out to bare my soul any further.

Somehow Mother sensed my fragile emotional state. "I made a fresh pot of vegetable soup this afternoon." She tucked an errant strand of hair behind my ear. "How about I get you a bowl?"

"Thanks." I was grateful she'd remembered. When I was pregnant with Jamie, her special vegetable soup was the only thing I was able to keep down, at first.

She headed into the kitchen, and I lay back against the couch. I'd have more to discuss with Billy than Lee's secret assignment, I thought as I rubbed my hand across my stomach in gentle circles. I'd have to come clean at work, too. There was too much at stake to keep up the charade. I'd just never imagined I'd have to do it without Lee by my side.

I heard my mother humming as she busied herself in the kitchen. As much as I dreaded the coming conversation, just the thought that she would soon know the truth filled me with enormous relief. To finally be free to talk about my husband without weighing my every word seemed a luxury beyond imagination. To actually be able to show her our wedding photo. . .

"Would you like orange juice or milk?" Mother called out, interrupting my thoughts.

"Orange juice, I think." For once food actually sounded appealing. "We could watch a movie if you want." It would be nice to spend a quiet evening relaxing with my mother.

Smiling, I started to pick up the mess the boys had left. Some people say they get their best ideas when they exercise, others while reading a book, or even pacing a room. Mine came as I was cleaning the coffee table, sweeping those damnable Scrabble pieces into the box. Selecting the tiles, I quickly spelled out the letters A-R-B-A-A-L-K.

My eyes widened. No, I told myself as the small squares glared back at me accusingly. No, it can't be. There had to be some other explanation.

But there wasn't. Without hesitation, I quickly switched the letters, my breathing quickening as everything fell into place. I did it once, twice, then one more time, just to make sure. But the answer was always the same. "ARBAALK," rearranged, spelled only one word, and that word filled me with terror.

The nightmare had started all over again.


	12. Part III Chapter 11

Monday, August 24, 1987

11:22 a.m.

"I can't believe Billy handed us this rookie assignment," Francine said, with a yawn that spoke her boredom. "This drop site hasn't seen any action for years."

"I suppose somebody had to do it. And we were the only team available."

Francine arranged her features into an attractive pout. "I still don't think it's fair."

"Nobody promised life was fair, Francine." Even though I keep expecting it to be, I added to myself.

Of course, my own life was far from it, at the moment. Fair would mean that my husband would be by my side tomorrow when I saw the doctor. Fair would mean that the news of our baby would be met with joy, not betrayal. Fair would mean that Lee would have come to me with the truth, not lies.

Francine turned to stare out her window in brooding silence. I did the same, clutching the steering wheel until my knuckles were almost white. This "Mickey Mouse" assignment must be getting to me, too. After spending the better part of the weekend preparing myself for a confrontation with Mr. Melrose, I was in no mood to be put off. The haste with which he'd dispatched us to the warehouse district almost made me think he'd anticipated what I was going to say.

I leaned against the headrest. That was ridiculous. Billy was only experiencing a stressful morning, not some kind of weird premonition about my intentions. My lips curved into a smile. Shadow shock, that's what Lee would call it. I was so desperate to finally tell the truth that I was seeing conspiracies where none existed.

"So, how was your weekend, Francine?" I asked, anxious to fill the silence. Even a monologue on Francine's social life was better than being alone with my thoughts.

She shrugged. "Okay."

I tilted my head. "No hot nightclubs to report on?"

She flicked a piece of lint from her slacks. "I spent a quiet weekend at home, catching up on my reading. The social scene doesn't appeal to me at the moment."

"Yeah," I commiserated. "I know what you mean."

Instead of a snappy retort, Francine simply nodded. I studied her more closely. She had been quiet lately, no pointed barbs, no digs at my expense. I'd attributed it to her desire for a smoother working relationship, but now I realized it was something more. Francine was depressed. It was there in her eyes, if I'd only taken the trouble to look. Jonathan's departure had eradicated their devilish sparkle.

A sudden thought struck me. Were people thinking the same about me? I supposed that, soon enough, they'd have even more cause for pity. When my condition became common knowledge, the rumor mongers would have a field day.

Francine's sigh snapped me out of my funk. "I did order in from the 'Blue Fox' on Saturday night." She stretched her hands out in front of her to study her nails. "It seems they even cater to parties of one now."

"Francine, you've got to stop beating yourself up about this." I patted her shoulder, the way I did with the boys when they were down. "What happened with Jonathan wasn't your fault. You'll see. You'll meet somebody else, someone who'll make you forget all about him."

She turned frosty eyes on me. "Is that what you tell yourself, Amanda?" When I looked away, she let out a harsh breath. "Well, then, I'd appreciate it if you didn't spout platitudes at me."

"You're right," I said, my mouth taut. "It really isn't any of my business."

Francine groaned. "I'm sorry. I know you mean well, but it doesn't help. I'm still so angry at Jonathan, I just can't see straight." She paused for a beat then asked, in a low voice, "Don't you ever feel that way?"

"Yeah." I tightened my grip on the steering wheel again. "There are times I think that if Lee turned up tomorrow and I had a gun in my hand, I might seriously consider using it."

Francine grinned. "I know what you mean."

I closed my eyes, slowly nursing my anger. It kept my mind off other things, things too frightening to think about. Like the thought that whatever Lee had gotten himself mixed up in might be more than he could handle alone . . . that I might be left to raise another child on my own . . . and the most unsettling thought of all, that Karbala had actually returned . . .

_Those hateful eyes seem to burn right through me as he fixes me in his gaze. He's angry, angrier than I've ever seen him._

_There is a smirk beneath his words as he says, "You'll both be remembered as heroes, and martyrs of the people." _

_He raises his gun and slowly cocks the hammer. He has a bullet behind it this time, I know it. I squeeze my eyes shut as Lee pulls me closer, his embrace a goodbye. We may not make it out of this one. . ._

". . . this one." Francine's words snapped me back to reality. "This one's our contact, I'm sure of it," she said as she grabbed her purse from the seat beside me.

Squinting against the bright sunlight, I watched the slim figure of a man emerge from the building. He paused to light a cigarette then gazed deliberately in our direction. He was our contact, all right; he'd just given the all-clear signal. "I'll make the pick up," I offered, glad to finally be on the move.

"No, I'll do it," Francine ordered, all business again as she calmly snapped a full clip into her gun. "I'm the senior agent. Wait in the car and call in our backup, if we need it."

Wait in the car . . .

My mouth was suddenly so dry that all I could do was nod. As Francine sprinted toward the abandoned building, an uneasy feeling gnawed at my stomach. Something about the set-up bothered me, something I couldn't quite put my finger on.

Stop it, I told myself. This was a simple "touch and go" meet, nothing sinister about it. This warehouse was nothing like the building on Cheverly. Addi Birol wasn't going to materialize and order me to drive away. Even if Karbala had returned, Birol had most certainly not returned with it.

It didn't do any good. The space inside the car grew tighter with each passing minute, until finally I couldn't breathe. I felt for the door handle with shaking hands, yanked it open and catapulted from the car into the hot August morning. No wonder I was gasping for air; it must be close to ninety degrees outside.

Wrapping my arms around my stomach, I walked away, my heart hammering in my chest. "Breathe, Amanda," I whispered, remembering the words Lee had used to get me through those first violent attacks of claustrophobia. "Just breathe."

That's when it happened.

The explosion rocked the peaceful morning, lifting me off my feet and hurtling me to the ground. Someone yelled out my name, but I couldn't answer. I rolled over on the rough concrete, rubbing my head in stunned surprise. Something sticky and wet came off on my fingertips. As I struggled to rise, the horizon tilted and my vision blurred. The last thing I saw before the blessed blackness came was Francine rushing toward the fiery inferno that, only seconds ago, had been our car.


	13. Part III Chapter 12

Monday, August 24, 1987

1:43 p.m.

I awakened to the smell of antiseptic and too-bright lights.  I tried to speak, but all I could manage was a soft groan.

"Take it easy," someone responded.  "Don't try to move."

Those instructions were easy enough to follow; my limbs felt as if they were encased in tar.  "What happened to me?"  I blinked a few times to clear my vision, but it didn't seem to do any good.  I still saw two of everything.

"The doctor will be with you shortly.  This is the emergency room at Galilee General Hospital, Mrs. King."

"Head hurts," I mumbled.  "But I'm not sure . . ."

"Some short-term memory loss is not unusual, under the circumstances.  The doctor will explain it all to you as soon as the rest of your test results are in.  Now," the soothing voice continued, "your husband is just outside.  I'll send him in, and you two can wait together."

My husband?  I felt a smile tugging at my lips.  If I'd known all it would take was a knock on the head to bring him, I might have tried it much sooner. 

The curtain parted and a shadowy form entered.  "Lee?" I whispered, my voice catching in my throat.  "Is that you?"

A gentle hand closed around mine.  "No, Amanda.  It's me, Joe."

"Joe?"  I squinted until his face came into focus.  "How . . . why . . ."

"The hospital called me.  Your emergency card listed me as a contact."

"It must be the one I keep for the boys."  I tried to mask my disappointment.  "Sorry to drag you in here like this."

"Are you kidding?  I was happy to come.  You're still family, sweetheart.  Nothing can change that."  Leaning over, he placed a tender kiss on my forehead and whispered in my ear, "And I'll be here for you whenever you need me."

"Thanks, Joe, but I really am fine."  I smiled as I realized how incongruous that sounded, coming from a cubicle in the emergency room.  "Or, at least, I will be."

He rolled his eyes.  "You're as stubborn as ever, Amanda King.  Why don't we let the doctors make sure of that, okay?"

"I don't have time.  I've got to call my supervisor and give him my situation report . . ."

I tried to sit up, but his strong hands held my shoulders, forcing me back down on the cot.  "Take it easy, Amanda.  You need to worry about yourself right now, not your job.  Besides, the other agent—the blonde woman—she's already taken care of that."

"Francine?  She's all right, then?"

Joe laughed.  "Well, if the way she has the staff around here jumping through hoops is any indication, I'd say she's more than all right."

I grinned.  "My partner believes in keeping people on their toes.  I really should—"

The curtains parted, and a tall man in a white coat entered the cubicle.  He acknowledged Joe with a nod then turned to me.  "Mr. and Mrs. King, the nurse told me you were both in here.  Good.  It will save me the trouble of going over everything twice."

I started to explain that Joe was my ex-husband, not my current one, but the doctor didn't give me the chance.  "I have the results of your tests," he informed me, frowning as he flipped through some papers.  "You were very lucky, Mrs. King.  You have a concussion, but it's not too serious.  If you take care of yourself properly, that is."

"A concussion?"

"Yes.  You may experience headache and some blurred vision for a few days, but I fully expect that to clear up with time and rest.  Now, regarding the pregnancy . . ."  He consulted his chart again.  "Everything looks fine there, too."

"The baby's okay?" I asked, ignoring the stunned look on Joe's face.

The doctor smiled faintly.  "Babies are much tougher than people think, Mrs. King.  Now, the ultrasound puts you at nine weeks.  Does that sound right to you?"

Memories of that June night flooded my mind.  "Yes," I whispered, "it does."

He went on to say that because of the pregnancy, he didn't want to prescribe anything too strong for my headache, but I could barely take it in.  What did it matter if my head felt as if it was going to explode?  My baby—Lee's baby—was going to be just fine.  I'd never realized until this moment how badly I wanted this child.

As the doctor departed, I stole a glance at Joe.  He stood motionless by the bed, his forehead scrunched into a frown.  I knew that look; he was upset.  "Joe, I—"

He shook his head and squeezed my arm.  "Amanda," he gasped, bewilderment rippling through the word.  "You're . . . pregnant?"

I nodded, wincing as my throbbing head reminded me I shouldn't do that.  "It's not what you think, Joe.  Lee and I, we're . . . well, we're married." 

There, I'd finally said it. I looked at Joe, willing him to understand.  His face registered the astonishment I'd expected, but also something else, some unsettling emotion I couldn't name.  I probably shouldn't have broken the news so abruptly.

He stiffened as he looked down at me.  "When?" 

"In February," I told him, relieved to finally be able to share my news with someone. 

"When you were shot . . ."  His mouth fell open. 

"Yes.  We were on our honeymoon.  I wanted to tell you, Joe," I went on when he didn't respond.  "I meant to tell you, actually, that day we met for lunch . . . at the Isle of Capri restaurant, remember?  But . . ."

"But I told you my news about Carrie instead."

"Our timing always was a bit off, wasn't it?"  I grinned half-heartedly.  "I'm sorry about just dropping it on you like this, here in the emergency room, but I didn't want you to think—"

"Do the boys know?"

I shook my head.  "Mother knows . . . well, about the baby, not the marriage.  I've been putting off telling her . . . telling them . . . because . . . because at heart I'm just a coward, I guess.  I'm going to have to confess everything—the job, the secret marriage, this life I've chosen.  It's a little overwhelming, especially since I have no idea where my husband is at the moment."  I exhaled loudly.  "It appears I'd rather let Mother think Lee and I were shacking up than come clean about all the lies.  That certainly says something, doesn't it?"

But Joe wasn't listening to me.  "Amanda."  He tightened his grip on my arm.  "I think I may have made a terrible mistake."

"A mistake . . . with Carrie?"  I couldn't follow his reasoning.  Surely he wasn't regretting his engagement . . . was he? 

"Oh, Joe," I said, in a rush, "I hope not.  She really is a wonderful person, so warm and caring.  "I'm really happy you found her, and I hope you can feel the same way for—"

"Amanda, I'm not talking about Carrie."  His frown deepened.  "It's something else.  I made a bad decision, but, in my defense, I really thought I was doing what was best for you and for the boys . . ."  He paced the length of my bed, his hands thrust deeply into his pockets.  "But I didn't understand at all, I can see that now.  I've been a first class fool.  I had no right to—"

"Stop, Joe."  His convoluted diatribe was making me dizzy.  "Whatever it is you're trying to say, please, just say it."

His face clouded over.  Sucking in a breath, he nodded.  "Amanda, Lee came to see me a few months ago, and he . . . well, he gave me a letter for you."

"He did what?"  I couldn't grasp what Joe was telling me. 

Joe looked away.  "We argued.  About you, the boys . . . he was behaving so strangely.  What was I supposed to think?  A man with his reputation . . ."

My temper flared.  "What is that supposed to mean?"

Joe studied the floor.  "I ran into a friend of his at a fundraiser for the EAO, a woman by the name of Celeste Van Kreswynkle.  She told me quite a few stories about Lee, and I . . . well, I just didn't want you to be subjected to anymore garbage about why he felt compelled to leave, so I—"

"Patterson, Hendrichs, secure this area.  And find Desmond immediately." 

Billy's voice boomed as my section chief arrived in force, the full weight of his official presence filling the emergency room.  Two agents flanked him, and two more stationed themselves outside the curtained-off area.  My chief's deeply furrowed brow sparked a sudden memory.

"I'm fine, sir," I said, as the details of the accident flashed into my mind.  "But I'm afraid I can't say the same for the Agency's sedan."

"We're dealing with that now."  He jerked his head at Joe.  "Mr. King, if you could step outside, I need to debrief my agent."

I wondered if my mind was playing tricks on me.  Agency business or not, Billy's manner wasn't usually so gruff.  Joe agreed reluctantly, his eyes still unable to meet mine.  "If you don't mind, I'll stick around in the waiting area for a while.  I need to finish my conversation with Amanda." 

"Fine."  Billy motioned for someone to escort Joe from the room.  "I believe she'll have something important to discuss with you, too."  Turning to me, Billy gripped the bedrail.  "The doctor tells me you're going to be fine.  I'm glad, Amanda.  Do you remember what happened?"

"It was all so sudden . . . I don't know . . ."  My boss' demeanor unsettled me, not to mention I was still reeling from the information Joe had let slip.  "One minute I was getting out of the car, the next minute it blew . . ."

"There was an explosive device attached to the underbody, beneath the front seat.  Most likely triggered by some sort of timer or remote control, perhaps even a weight sensitive device.  We'll know more when our boys finish going over the scene, but . . ."  He paused to take a deep breath.  "The preliminary evidence gives us more than enough information to act."

I looked at him with an effort; all this drama was making my head pound.  "You know who's behind this?"

"Yes.  I'm sorry to tell you this, Amanda, but I'm afraid you were the target."

"I don't understand, sir.  I'm not working on anything that might provoke a deadly response."

Billy lowered himself into the bedside chair, fixing his gaze on anything but my face.  "I'm afraid I can't give you any more information here, in a non-secure environment.  What I can do is assure you that we'll use every resource at the Agency's disposal to protect you and your family."

I struggled to breathe.  "My family?  Are they—"

"Don't worry, they're fine.  We've had them under twenty-four hour surveillance ever since . . ."

Though my head was splitting, I managed to achieve a sitting position.  "This has something to do with Lee, doesn't it?"

To his credit, Billy only hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering, "Yes, it does.  We'll discuss this in more detail at the Agency."

"The Agency?"  I frowned.  "I don't understand, sir."

"We've got to get you to a secure facility.  There's no time to wait for a safe house, so I've arranged for an ambulance to take you to the Agency clinic.  We'll be bringing your family in, as well.  I'm sorry, Amanda.  There's no other choice."

"I . . . understand."  The lights were suddenly too harsh, and I rubbed my eyes.  They were bringing in Mother and the boys . . .

Of all the coming clean scenarios I'd imagined, this one had never once crossed my mind.  So much for waiting for the perfect time.  Fate, it seemed, had stepped in and taken the decision from my hands. 

At the steady pressure on my arm, I looked up into Billy's concerned eyes.  "I'm sorry," he said again.  "I wish there was another way."

"I need to talk to Joe," I murmured.

Billy consulted his watch.  "I can give you five minutes, no more."

I nodded.  Five minutes would be more than enough time to hear what Joe had to say.  It appeared that everyone's secrets were about to reveal themselves today . . . in the worst possible way.


	14. Part III Chapter 13

Tuesday, August 25, 1987

11:27 a.m.

"Amanda . . . Amanda . . ." I rolled over and wrapped the sheet around me, but the persistent voice refused to let me sleep. "Amanda, it's late, you need to wake up."

I reluctantly opened my eyes. Instead of my familiar bedroom, I found myself in a small, but tastefully decorated room. The walls were painted in a color meant to soothe, the pale blue accentuated by the more colorful pictures and wall hangings. The soft light came, not from the windows, but from the lamps on the bedside tables. Oddly enough, there didn't seem to be any natural light at all . . .

No natural light . . .

The events of the previous day came crashing back with alarming clarity. The incident at the drop site, the discussion with Joe at the hospital, the ambulance ride to the Agency clinic, the painful revelations I'd been forced to make to my family . . .

I grimaced. The explosion in the parking lot had been nothing compared to the one I'd experienced last night with my mother.

She helped me sit up then plumped the pillows behind my back with cool efficiency. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay, I guess. My head still hurts." I rubbed the small, painful knot on the back of my head as I fluffed my sleep-tousled hair. "The real question is, how are you?"

Mother's brows shot up. "Well, let's see. Yesterday I was yanked out of Mr. Emelio's Salon by three uniformed men, hustled into a limousine, then transported to a secret underground Agency where I'm told my daughter and the son-in-law I didn't realize I had are both employed as spies. How should I be?"

Though her tone was flippant, it was impossible to miss the flashing anger still present in her eyes. I didn't know what else I'd expected; Mother certainly had every reason to be furious with me. "I really am sorry," I said, trying to apologize once more. "You don't know how many times I've wanted to tell you, especially these past two months when . . . and well, then, the other night . . ."

I'd managed to twist the bed sheet into a tight ball. Without a word, Mother extricated the rumpled bedding from my grip, smoothed it, and tucked me beneath the covers. Then she sighed and sat beside me on the bed. "Well, I suppose I can take some small comfort in knowing that my new grandchild isn't going to be a . . . well, you know."

A shadow of a smile crossed her face, and I attempted to meet her proffered olive branch halfway. "Mother, I'm not the heroine in one of those soap operas of yours, you know."

"Yes, well . . ." She rolled her eyes. "If they did this storyline on my program, nobody would believe it."

"Probably not." I squeezed her arm. "How are the boys this morning?"

"Jamie's been a little quiet, but that's not surprising. Phillip appears to be taking it all in stride. He convinced Mr. Leatherneck to take them down to the motor pool to check out the cars."

"That's just plain Leatherneck, Mother."

She raised an eyebrow. "What kind of a nickname is that?"

I smiled. "It's not a nickname, it's a codename."

Mother pursed her lips. "This is some business you've gotten yourself mixed up in."

"I know." I pulled the covers up around my chest. "It's funny how things turn out, isn't it? If Dean hadn't been so worried about the rain spoiling his new wax job, I might have had a nice, normal career at Honeycutt Typewriter, filling out forms and making coffee for some executive."

"Somehow I can't seem to picture that." Mother smiled grimly. "Of course, I never pictured my daughter as some kind of secret agent, either. At least a few things are a bit clearer now. Like why our house was overrun with federal agents last year."

"That was all a mistake."

"So you keep telling me." Her eyes pierced the distance between us. "And what about this, Amanda? Is this all a mistake, too?"

I clasped my hands together. "No, I'm afraid this is all too real."

"When I think that I could have lost you yesterday . . ." She sucked in a breath and gathered me in her arms. "I should be furious with you for keeping all this from me—I am furious with you—but all I can think about right now is how grateful I am that you're all right. You and that new grandchild of mine."

"I love you, too," I whispered. "And I really am sorry about this. Lee and I didn't intend for you to find out this way."

Mother pulled away. "Well, I suppose one good thing has come out of all this. I no longer feel such a pressing need to strangle that husband of yours. It's reassuring to know he didn't run off and leave you just to make some documentary film."

"In some ways, it would be easier if he had." I rubbed the gooseflesh on my arms. "I'm just so worried about him . . ."

She started to say something, but contented herself with patting my hand instead. "Did your Mr. Melrose tell you anything about what he's doing?"

"Only that he's working on a matter of national security and that somehow we've been . . . compromised."

"'Compromised.'" She snorted. "What a quaint way to say all our lives are in danger. Dare I ask what happens now?"

I looked away. "They'll take us to a safe house until all this is over."

"I see."

I poked my finger through the open weave of the blanket. Clearly, Mother was working hard to stay in control; that tiny nerve on the side of her neck kept twitching whenever she looked at me. I could understand. In the space of a few seconds, she'd become an unwitting casualty of this life I'd chosen—she and the boys both. I couldn't help but wonder if anything would ever be the same again.

"Amanda?" Francine stood in the doorway, her cheerful smile evaporating in the tense silence. "I hope I'm not interrupting," she said, looking at us both with wide eyes.

"Not at all," Mother responded, but her tone implied the opposite. Hands on her hips, she crossed to one side of the room and made a great show of studying the painting on the wall.

Francine shot me a look of sympathy. "Billy asked me to tell you he'll be in to brief you as soon as he finishes his conference with Dr. Smyth. I just wanted to see how you were doing."

I forced a smile. "Better than yesterday. How about you?"

"Oh, I'm fine," she said, with a laugh. "All in a day's work."

As I shot an apprehensive glance at my mother, Francine mouthed a quick, "Sorry." I shrugged and nodded my head in the direction of the door.

Francine took the hint. "Well, I'll give you some privacy. Amanda, Mrs. West." She'd almost made her escape, when she suddenly stopped. Retracing her steps, she dropped a manila envelope on my lap. "I almost forgot. This was delivered for you by special messenger."

My mouth was so dry I could barely speak. "Thanks. I've been waiting for this."

Nodding, Francine glanced at Mother one more time then beat a hasty retreat. My heart pounded as I turned the envelope over. The return address read "EAO" in large, bold print. Joe had sent the letter; he'd kept his word to me, at least. "I can't believe this," I said, both fear and wonder in my voice.

"More bad news?" Without any inflection, Mother's words sounded one-dimensional.

"It's a letter," I whispered, scarcely able to believe it myself. "From Lee."

"From Lee?" Mother turned and walked over to my bed.

I nodded. "He wrote it to me last June, just before he left."

Her frown deepened. "I thought he wasn't allowed to contact you."

Smiling to myself, I clutched the precious missive. "He wasn't."

Mother cocked her head, obviously puzzled by the rules of a game she didn't understand. I couldn't fault her for that; these days I was a little short on understanding myself. "Evidently Lee paid Joe a visit before he left town," I explained, repeating my ex-husband's astonishing confession. "He gave Joe this letter and asked him to wait twenty-four hours before giving it to me, but—"

"Let me guess. Joe decided to keep it from you 'for your own good.'"

I wrinkled my forehead. "How did you know that?"

"Well, you didn't get all of your training to be a spy—pardon me, 'intelligence operative'—on the job, you know. Some of it you came by naturally." She quirked her eyebrows. "Besides, Joe has always been pretty easy to read."

"Joe thought Lee was running out on me. On all of us. He felt the kindest thing to do was to let it be a clean break. He always did have this ridiculous need to make my decisions for me." I smiled ruefully. "And he used to call me stubborn."

"What made him finally decide to give you the letter?"

"I told him the truth."

Mother cocked her head. "The whole truth?"

"He already knew about the job. Lee and I helped him out when he had all that trouble with the Estoccian government."

Mother set her jaw. "I see."

"This isn't all Joe's fault," I said, trying to turn the focus from my job. "He did have some reason to believe Lee was acting strangely. I just wish he hadn't taken it upon himself to keep this from me."

"Well, at least he decided to do the right thing now."

I moistened my chapped lips as I looked down at the envelope. "I'll give you some privacy," I heard Mother say as she headed for the door.

"Please don't . . . leave." My voice cracked on the last word. I didn't want to be alone; my emotions were too raw. I'd spent long days, and even longer nights, searching for answers I thought I might never find. And now that I held in my hands the tangible proof that Lee hadn't abandoned me, I was shaking so badly I could barely hold onto it.

"Here, Amanda. Let me." Mother easily worked the clasp I was struggling with. Handing me the manila envelope, she crossed the room to study the painting again.

I murmured a quick, "Thanks," as I extracted a folded sheet of paper. It was addressed simply to "Amanda," in the bold, slanted handwriting I instantly recognized. Holding my breath, I slowly opened the letter, squinting sharply as I struggled to make sense of the words.

But I couldn't do it. My vision was just blurry enough to make reading impossible. Tears filled my eyes as I set the paper down in frustration. "Mother," I cried, "would you please help me?"

Her eyes widened as I held out the letter. "Are you sure, Amanda?"

"Yes, I'm sure." My words were thick with emotion. "Please, I need to know."

She hesitated for another beat then slowly walked over and took the paper from my unsteady hand. "Okay, if that's what you really want."

Sitting down in the chair beside my bed, she began to read. _"Amanda. . ." _Her eyes darted up at me uncertainly. I nodded once more. Clearing her throat, she started again. _"Amanda . . ."_

_"I hardly know what to say to you. Honestly speaking, I shouldn't say anything at all. What I should do is follow through with the cover I've created, walk out that door without a word and let you hate me. I thought it would be easier on you that way, but after what happened tonight, I realized that I wasn't trying to make it easier for you—I was trying to make it easier for me. I'm probably not making much sense right now, but it's hard for me to think straight when you're lying there, looking like that."_

Mother stopped. "Go on," I urged, beyond caring if the letter might be too personal. "Please."

She took a deep breath and continued.

_"I can't tell you where I'm going or what I'm about to do. Know that I'm not leaving because I want to, but because I have no other choice. Those dreams I had—the horses, the softball games in the backyard—they were built on fantasy, not fact. That's the trouble with this business, you see. We live so many lies every day that it becomes impossible to know what's real and what's not. The world of counter-espionage isn't a pretty one, Amanda, but it's the one we chose. Or, at least, I chose it. And the reality is, there are people in that world who would hurt you, hurt Phillip and Jamie, just so they could get to me. I can't let that happen, so I've agreed to take this assignment." _

_"I know I don't have the right to ask it, but I need you to do something for me. Destroy this letter as soon as you read it and don't try to find out where I've gone. Your safety depends on people thinking we mean nothing to each other. That's why I've gone to such lengths to make sure you believed it, too. I'm not proud of the things I've done, but please realize that everything I said, I said because I love you, not because I don't."_

_"I'm sorry. That sounds so inadequate, I know, but it's the only thing I can offer now. You see, when it comes right down to it, I'm nothing but a coward. I'm a coward for choosing to follow the rules of the game. I'm a coward for hiding behind this damnable charade. And, finally, in the end, I'm the biggest coward of all for not being able to follow through with it."_

_"You see, tonight, after we made love, I finally knew. It's like that moment of truth all the manuals talk about—the one where you know whether or not you can pull the trigger. I can't. Despite all the years of training, despite my high-level contact zero orders, despite the fact that the very existence of this letter could put you in danger, I just can't disappear from your life with all these lies between us."_

_"I wouldn't blame you if you couldn't forgive me for what I've done, but please know one thing. There was one day I didn't lie to you. You are the best, the bravest, the smartest, most beautiful woman I've ever known. And nothing will ever change that. _

_Lee."_

Mother's voice faded, leaving a silence so thick you could almost touch it. When at last I found the courage to meet her gaze, there were tears in her eyes, too. "Oh, Amanda," she whispered, her voice fragile and shaking. "I'm so sorry. I didn't understand."

Unable to form words, I simply nodded. She got up then and took me in her arms, rocking me gently. She didn't need to say anything; that simple gesture told it all. We stayed that way, silently holding each other, until an embarrassed cough shattered the moment. Pulling away, I stared up into the kind-hearted smile of my friend and supervisor.

"Excuse me, Mrs. West," he said. "I need to talk to Amanda alone."

Mother wiped her eyes as she released me. "I think I'll go find the boys, if that's okay."

"Certainly," Billy said, obviously surprised at her politeness. Mother usually treated him to the sharp side of her tongue. "Agent Patterson will escort you. He's waiting at the end of the hall."

Mother turned to me. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yes," I replied, making the transition from daughter to agent with an effort. "I'll be just fine."

As she left the room, Billy approached my bed. "I've just come from a two hour conference with Dr. Smyth," he began, not mincing any words. "Certain arrangements have been made, plans set in motion that I need to brief you on."

As I nodded, he continued. "In about an hour, you and your family will be escorted to Mrs. McMurty's. It's not an ideal situation, I know, but we haven't been able to find a safe house large enough to accommodate all of you. At least, not one with adequate security measures in place."

"Will we be able to get some things from the house . . . clothes, personal effects?" I asked, as casually as I could manage.

"Make a list. I'll get them to you."

"There's no chance of going myself?" It was uncomfortable enough to think about someone else searching through my private things, but I couldn't bear to send an agent off to retrieve our wedding rings. "I'm not a civilian, sir. Maybe, with an escort, I could—"

"I'm afraid that won't be possible. You're under alpha class protection until such time as we can assess the severity of the threat. I'm sorry, Amanda," he added, his tone softening. "I'm sorry it had to come to this. If it will make you feel any better, I'll go myself."

"Yes, sir. Thank you." I swallowed past the lump in my throat. "Can you . . . can you tell me anything about what Lee is involved in? I know I shouldn't ask, but it's just so hard, not knowing if he's okay or if he's in trouble. I'm so used to watching his back . . ."

"Everything was 'on the wire' at his last check-in. As for what he's involved in, I'm sure Lee will be able to answer those questions for you better than I can."

A gasp escaped my lips. "Lee?"

"Yes. I thought you understood. 'Operation Reclamation' was activated as of three a.m. this morning. Yesterday's run on you means that Scarecrow's cover could be compromised, too."

My heart beat wildly as I stared at Billy. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Yes, Amanda." He abandoned the role of section chief to pat me lightly on the shoulder. "We're pulling him out."


	15. Part IV Chapter 14

**IV **

**__**

_"but baby i****_

_still believe in all _

_all of love's glory_

_i gave that promise to the rain_

_i'm__ not afraid to stumble_

_baby i can fall . . .''_

__

Friday, August 28, 1987

4:35 p.m.****

Another bolt of lightening tore through the late afternoon sky. I closed my eyes, counting the seconds until the thunder boomed, the way I'd done as a child. One, one hundred, two, one hundred, three . . .

Though I expected it, I still jumped when the noise came crashing down, seemingly from every side. The storm was getting closer. Maybe the rain would finally break that awful, oppressive feeling hanging in the air.

It would take more than a downpour to cleanse the atmosphere indoors, though. "Give it back, toad breath," Jamie shouted, his angry voice rumbling more loudly than the thunder.

Turning from the window on the open landing, I looked down into the "great room," so named because it combined the space from the living, family and dining rooms into one large area. The lodge at Mrs. McMurty's was spacious and comfortable, much bigger than the smaller cabin Lee and I had occupied on our last abortive visit. But, on this particular day, no room was "great" enough to contain two rambunctious boys.

"That's enough, Jamie," I admonished sharply as he socked his brother in the shoulder.

"But Phillip has my book, and he won't give it back!" He punctuated this last sentence with another shove, one that his older brother showed unmistakable signs of reciprocating.

"I said that's enough!" My patience was stretched to its limit. "If the two of you can't get along, find neutral corners somewhere."

"Geez," Jamie muttered to Phillip, suddenly in perfect accord with the brother he'd been about to murder. "What's the matter with her?"

I turned back to the window. That was definitely the question of the hour. Let's see now, take your pick . . . my sons, who had been at each other's throats since the first light of day; my mother, who seemed determined to work the word "prison" into every other sentence; or my husband, who, after three interminably long days, was still conspicuously absent from our happy family gathering.

"Are you feeling all right?" Mother asked on her way downstairs, echoing Jamie's sentiments a little more politely.

"I feel fine." I gritted my teeth, just barely keeping my frustration in check. "The doctor gave me some pills."

"I wasn't referring to your morning sickness. And don't look at me like that, Missy," she said, as my eyes flashed a warning. "I agreed not to say anything, and I'll keep my promise. But you know what I think of all these secrets."

"I know, Mother. But I don't want to tell anyone until I've had a chance to talk to Lee."

She stepped closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Has Mr. Melrose spoken to you today?"

"No. I haven't heard a word from him since our first night here. I just hope something hasn't gone wrong."

She slid her hand down my back, massaging the tight muscles between my shoulder blades. "I'm sure everything's fine, darling. No news is good news, you know."

In this business, no news usually meant something had gone 'off the wire,' but I didn't have the heart to tell her that. Barbed comments notwithstanding, she'd been doing an admirable job of keeping our spirits up since our arrival at Mrs. McMurty's. Even the taciturn Marine guards stationed here had come to look forward to her batches of homemade cookies.

But, more than anything else, I'd appreciated her efforts to keep the boys occupied. It had taken less than twenty-four hours for the novelty to wear off and the whining to begin. I'd expected as much from Phillip; he'd always had a low boredom threshold. But, oddly enough, Jamie was having a harder time settling down.

My anxiety must have shown, because Mother snaked her arm around my waist. "Amanda Stetson. Stop those negative thoughts, right this minute. I raised you to look for the silver lining, not the storm clouds."

Her words jogged a memory. For a moment, I was back in that damp Virginia swampland, sheltered in Lee's capable embrace. We'd made it out of that life and death situation in one piece. Lee certainly couldn't fail to do the same now, when there was so much more at stake.

"You're right," I said, imagining for a few brief seconds that his were the arms that held me. "This is certainly no business for a pessimist."

Mother smiled. "That's my girl. Now, let's see if we can scare up something fattening to eat in the kitchen. I'm in the mood to spoil my dinner."

"I'm right behind you." I was halfway down the stairs when the realization hit me. "Mother," I asked, through the frog in my throat, "what did you just call me?"

"Amanda Stetson." She lifted an eyebrow. "It is your name, isn't it?"

"Yeah," I whispered. "I guess it is."

Amanda Stetson. That name, so often repeated in my head, sounded foreign coming from my mother. I wondered briefly if it was destined to remain that way. Though no one would say anything specific about their plans for us, I knew the score. Our guards reported to the Department of Justice, not the Agency. That could only mean one thing—the powers that be were thinking long-term relocation, not temporary protective custody.

If my family was having a difficult time adjusting to our current situation, it would be nothing compared to the stress of assuming new identities. And where did that leave Joe? He certainly deserved more than one secured phone call per week. He had a right to see his sons grow up. I wondered if it wouldn't be better for the boys to let Joe and Carrie take them. Joe could go back into active service with the EAO. The boys might have to leave the country, but at least they could do it as Phillip and Jamie King, not under some unfamiliar aliases.

I shook myself. That line of reasoning didn't hold water. Karbala's reach was long. They might be in even more danger with Joe . . .

"Hey, Mom." Phillip gave me an uncharacteristic hug. "Don't worry, things will be okay."

I smiled at the look of tender concern on his face; my son was growing up. "I know they will, sweetheart. I just wish . . ."

He caught my eye then nodded toward the corner of the room. "Junior over there's just scared. That's why he's behaving like such a moron."

I followed his gaze to where Jamie sat, dwarfed in the big armchair, his eyes glued to his book. Pursing my lips, I brushed a lock of hair from Phillip's forehead. "And what about you? Are you scared, too?"

A flicker of emotion crossed his face. "A little, I guess. Mostly, I'm just really proud of you. I think you're the bravest person I know."

My son's praise made me feel like a hypocrite. A brave person wouldn't shake every time she thought about firing a gun. A brave person wouldn't wake up screaming, tormented by nightmares she couldn't control. A brave person wouldn't have kept her secret life from her family until circumstances forced the truth.

"No, Phillip. Don't romanticize all this. I'm no hero. I'm just an ordinary person who got caught up in extraordinary circumstances."

"But that's the point." He scrunched his forehead, the way he always did when he concentrated on a difficult math problem. "You were just a mother, and you still tried to make a difference. It's like Lee told me once. There's nothing heroic about being brave when you don't have a choice. You just do it because you have to. But when you choose to do what's right, even though you're scared it might hurt the people you care about, well, that's real courage."

I struggled to keep my voice even. "Lee told you that?"

Phillip nodded. "The way I see it, what's happened to us is kinda like that. You didn't have to do your job, you chose to do it. To make the world a better place, like you told us. Even though, sometimes, the things you have to do scare you. So, in my book, that makes you the bravest person I know."

Tears filled my eyes as I pulled him closer. "Phillip, I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me. Thank you."

He hunched his shoulders and quickly extricated himself from my embrace. Thankfully, he was spared further embarrassment by his grandmother's entrance.

"I have a couple of giant banana splits here, if anyone's interested."

"Wow, Grandma, I could sure go for some of that." Phillip plopped down on the couch, grabbed a spoon and immediately attacked one of the large bowls Mother placed on the coffee table. He might be sounding more and more like an adult these days, but, when it came to ice cream, he was still very much my little boy.

I watched as the mountain of whipped cream on Phillip's sundae quickly disappeared. "I think you've outdone yourself, Mother," I told her, with a grin.

"I have to say, the kitchen here is extremely well-stocked." Mother pursed her lips then added, "For a prison, that is."

"It's not a prison," I explained, for the umpteenth time. "It's a secure facility."

"A secure facility with bars on the windows."

"That's only for our protection."

She grimaced. "'A rose, by any other name, would smell as sweet.' That's what I always say."

"You don't say that at all," I returned, with a smile.

"Well, where do you think Shakespeare got the line, Amanda?" She sat down, crossed her legs and shot me a pointed look. "From our ancestors."

I rolled my eyes and turned to Jamie. He hadn't moved; his feet were still tucked up underneath him in the big chair. I forced a cheerful note into my voice. "How about you, sweetheart? Are you going to let your brother eat all this ice cream alone?"

"I'm not hungry," came my younger son's sullen reply.

"Okay, but you don't know what you're missing." I gave Mother a look as I sat on the couch.

"You know, I'll bet we have time for a game of Monopoly before dinner," she said, picking up the ball. "You boys promised me a chance to get even after the last time."

"Yeah, Grandma. Jamie sure cleaned you out last night."

I mouthed a quick "Thank you," to Phillip, as Mother said, "Well, not this time. This time, I'm going to be the hat. It's my lucky piece."

Jamie snapped his book closed and pushed out of the chair. "Oh, okay, I guess. But I get to be banker."

Phillip grinned. "Fine by me. That's too much work anyhow." He started toward the bookshelf to retrieve the game when a sudden noise drew him to the window. "Hey, worm brain, come see this!"

"It's only thunder," Jamie muttered, still out of sorts, while Mother sharply admonished, "Phillip, don't call your brother names."

The rhythmic thumping grew louder. "It's not thunder," Phillip insisted. "It's something else. It sounds like—"

"A helicopter," I supplied, with an anxious sigh. "A big one."

"Yeah, Mom, I think you're right. Look, it's landing right on the lawn!"

As Jamie and Mother joined him at the window, I struggled to control my erratic pulse. Mrs. McMurty's played host to countless diplomats and high ranking military personnel. It might only be some new dignitary arriving for a brief stay. Or maybe even Billy, come to escort us to a new and better safe house.

But my heart whispered that Billy Melrose would never arrive with so much fanfare.

"There's a whole bunch of guys out there!" Phillip exclaimed, his voice betraying his excitement. "I think they're heading this way."

We all turned toward the door. My face flushed at the memory of our last hours together, and I couldn't decide if I most wished or feared to see him. My hands flew to my flat stomach as the door opened. Did I look different? Would he be able to tell?

He walked into the room. There were other people with him, people I didn't know or recognize, but I barely gave them a thought. I could only stare open-mouthed at my husband, all the while fisting my hands so tightly that my nails dug into my palms.

He looked different. It wasn't the weight he'd lost, though in some ways it made him appear taller. It wasn't the close-cropped beard he wore, though it leant his face a sinister air. It wasn't the color he'd used to darken his hair, either. It was the grim, haunted expression in his eyes as he stood and watched me, waiting, hoping, for the small gesture of welcome I suddenly seemed incapable of giving.

He took a few tentative steps toward me. "Amanda," he called out roughly, as if he had to push the word from his throat.

I tried to make myself go to him, but for some reason, I couldn't move. My hands flew to my lips. "Is it really you?"

He smiled when I said that, the one that always seemed to light up his face from the inside. Even all that facial hair couldn't hide those incredible dimples. The sight sparked something deep inside me, and I let out another short gasp. Blinded by tears, I propelled myself forward into a pair of arms that were outstretched and waiting.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, over and over, as he pulled me against his solid bulk. "I'm so, so sorry."

"You're here," was all I could say through the sobs that threatened to choke me. I pulled back a little to look at him, my hands patting his face, his shoulders, his chest. "You're really here, aren't you, standing right in front of me . . ."

"You bet I am." His voice softened to a soothing murmur as his lips brushed through my hair.

A harsh moan tore itself from my chest. I clutched the lapels of his jacket, shaking him. "Oh, I'm so angry with you. How could you do that to me, Stetson? You made me think . . ." I drew in a long, shuddering breath.

Lee looked around as I fell silent, as if he suddenly noticed there were other people in the room. He took a step back, kneading his neck with long, tapered fingers. "Maybe we should, uh, discuss this later."

I wrapped my arms around myself as I, too, moved away. "Yeah, maybe we should."

Mother stepped forward, putting an arm around my shoulder as she looked Lee over from head to toe. "Well, Mr. Stetson," she said at length. "You've had us all pretty worried about you."

Lee offered her a smile that was almost bashful. "I'm sorry about that, Dotty. It couldn't be helped."

Mother gave him a short, "Humph," then pulled him to her for a quick hug. "I'm glad you're here," I heard her whisper as she released him. "Your wife needs you more than she's willing to admit."

He cleared his throat, allowing his eyes to rest on me for a brief moment. Then he said, in a tone I couldn't mistake, "That goes both ways." He turned to Phillip and Jamie. "How about you guys? You okay?"

"Yeah." Phillip crossed the room to give Lee a clumsy hug. "But we're better now that you're back. We missed you."

"I missed you, too, Chief." Looking over Phillip's head, he caught Jamie's eye. "You, too, Sport."

Jamie turned to look out the window. "Yeah."

Lee started to go to him, but a manicured hand held him back. "Sorry to interrupt, Scarecrow, but Crum's waiting. He's booked on the midnight flight to London, and we need to be debriefed before he leaves."

"'Crum'?" My eyes narrowed as I glared at the owner of that sweetly accented voice.

Lee stepped between us. "That would be Frederick Crumwald. My unit commander."

"I see." If Lee was working under the renowned anti-terrorism expert, it must be true, then. Karbala had returned.

She tugged on his arm again. Lee gave her a long look then turned to me, his complexion reddening. "Amanda," he indicated the woman with a jerky sweep of his hand, "this is my, uh, partner, Gloria. Gloria Ortiz."

The woman who'd kissed my husband that night in the Bethesda bar stepped forward. "I'm happy to finally meet you, Mrs. King. Scarecrow speaks very highly of you."

"Thank you." My gaze traveled over her before settling on Lee. "But the name's Stetson, not King. Amanda Stetson."


	16. Part IV Chapter 15

Saturday, August 29, 1987

2:17 a.m.

The great room was dark, save for the light from the fire burning in the hearth. The blaze cast flickering shadows on the richly paneled walls, the logs snapping and crackling as the flames consumed them. Someone must have brought the wood in before the rain started.

Pillowed by the couch cushions, I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of the raindrops striking the roof. They echoed in the silence of the early morning, keeping me company as I waited. Mother and the boys had long since given up the watch and gone to bed. Though I needed sleep as well, I couldn't bring myself to climb the stairs alone, again.

My gaze traveled to the clock on the far wall. The slender hands stared back at me, as if to say that watching wouldn't make them move any faster. It was past two o'clock now. Crumwald must be long gone, his plane already over the Atlantic.

I still couldn't believe Lee had been working with the celebrated Frederick Crumwald. The irony was not lost on me. I'd spent a week with the man at the Anti-Terrorism Symposium, typed his conference notes, scoured his files. Had I overlooked the obvious? There must have been some sign, some clue I hadn't picked up. Surely when I'd accessed the MI-6 files . . .

An exhausted sigh broke the silence. For a moment I thought the sound had come from my lips, but when it happened again, I sprang from the couch. Stepping forward, I whispered, "Is someone there?"

"It's only me, Amanda." Lee ran a hand through his hair as he materialized from the shadows. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I thought you'd be asleep by now."

I jutted my chin out as I glowered at him. "Thought or hoped?" Even in the dimly lit room, his distress was impossible to miss. As was the fact that he was soaking wet. Evidently walking in a downpour was preferable to being with his wife.

"I'm sorry," he said, as my eyes raked over him again. "I needed some time alone, that's all."

I looked away. "Seems to me we've had more than enough of that already."

"I didn't mean . . ." He exhaled again. "I've been in deep cover for two months, Amanda. It's hard to make the transition, just like that. I needed to decompress a little before I saw you, that's all."

"So, what you're saying is, you needed some time to be normal." My voice lost some of its edge as I turned back to him. "Tell me something I don't know, Stetson."

His smile faded as he eased himself down on the couch. "Are you okay?" I asked as a short groan escaped his lips.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He looked down at the hardwood floor. "Just fine."

"And pigs fly," I wanted to say. I suddenly noticed the rigid way he held himself, the pain etched in every line on his face, the discoloration beneath his eyes. I longed to take him in my arms, give him the comfort he so clearly needed. But I could only manage to collapse into the nearest chair. It was as if someone had knocked the wind out of me.

I folded my arms across my stomach and rocked back and forth. "You look exhausted, Lee. You need to sleep."

"Amanda—"

"No. We can talk later, when you're rested."

He nodded, whether relieved or distressed at the reprieve, I couldn't tell. He glanced at the stairs. "Uh, where do you want me to . . ."

As his words dissolved into another weary moan, something clutched at my heart. I stood and closed the distance between us with slow, painful footsteps. "Come on. Let's get you into bed."

He grabbed for the hand I extended. "That sounds damn good right about now."

Normally, his intent would have been more than clear, but something seemed "off" somehow. Though he tried to hide it, I saw his discomfort as he pushed himself off the low couch. "Come on," I urged again. "Let's go."

He pulled me to him and touched his lips briefly to my forehead. "Thank you, Amanda. For not . . . well, thank you."

I swallowed hard at the look in his eyes. "It's late, Lee."

He nodded then followed me up the stairs and down the hall. As we entered the spacious master bedroom, I felt my cheeks flush. Someone had been there before us, someone who had drawn the shades and turned down the covers on the bed. The small night-lamp bathed the room in a penumbral light, but the message couldn't have been clearer if it had been lit up in neon.

I glanced over my shoulder at Lee. "Mother really needs to stop reading those romance novels."

He cleared his throat. "One thing you can say for her, she's more efficient than that maid."

"That's for sure." I tried to laugh. "Maybe, when all this is over, she should apply for a job at the Crystal Springs Inn. It might keep her out of our hair."

"It's a thought." Lee shifted his weight, his gaze drifting toward the bathroom. "I could really use a shower. Do you mind?"

"Not at all." I was thankful for something, anything, to relieve the stilted atmosphere. Mother meant well, but I definitely needed to have a talk with her. Right after I killed her. "There are extra towels on the shelf, if you need them."

He was already halfway into the other room. "Thanks, I'll find them."

As the door closed, I sank down on the bed in exhaustion. What on earth was the matter with us, with me? Seeing my husband had consumed my thoughts, waking and sleeping, for the past two months. Now that he was here, at last, I didn't know what to say to him. It was as if a vast canyon had grown between us, and I couldn't bridge the gap to the other side.

Trudging to the dresser, I opened the top drawer and fingered the soft nightgowns. Selecting an appropriately neutral one, I changed clothes and climbed into bed. Sleep tried to claim me, but I fought against it. I wanted to be awake when Lee emerged from the bathroom, if only to wish him one last goodnight. My body had other ideas, though. Challenged by my pregnancy and the tumultuous events of the past few days, I dozed off.

A thudding noise woke me with a start. Confused, I sat up and rubbed my eyes, trying to make sense of my jumbled thoughts. Noting that Lee's side of the bed was as yet undisturbed, I glanced at the clock. Though it felt like hours, I'd only been asleep for a few minutes.

The bathroom door was still closed. "Is everything all right?" I inquired, almost timidly.

He didn't answer. Steeling myself, I marched to the door. My fingers trembled as I took hold of the knob. I didn't want to intrude on his privacy, but . . . I pushed my apprehension aside. Lee was my husband, not some stranger. I was tired of walking on eggshells around him. Opening the door, I entered the small bathroom.

"Oh my gosh!"

Tears filled my eyes at the myriad of bruises, cuts and sores that covered his body. He averted his eyes and swiftly wrapped a thick towel around his hips. "I didn't want you to see this."

"Lee." His name was almost lost in my shuddering breath. "You should have told me."

"It looks much worse than it is, really. I'm fine."

"No, you're not." I propelled myself forward, into his arms. He groaned as I held him, and I quickly let go, alarmed at this new evidence of pain. "Oh, Lee, I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"

"No." The word was torn from somewhere deep in his chest. "You could never hurt me."

As if to prove it, he pulled me into his arms, his hands moving over my back in odd desperation. My nightgown grew damp as it absorbed the moisture from his skin, but I barely noticed. His breaths were coming in deep, uneven gasps, as he engaged in a monumental struggle to keep his emotions locked deep inside him.

"It's okay," I said, encouraging him to let go. "I've got you, sweetheart. Everything's going to be okay."

"Oh, Amanda, I . . ."

His words became a deep, almost animalistic, moan. I held him fast as sob after wracking sob tore itself from his body. Time ceased as we stood in the bathroom, joined in a frantic embrace. I stroked my fingers through his hair, still wet from the shower, while murmuring words of comfort that were strangely disconnected from my brain. I held him close until, finally, he relaxed against me, and his breathing returned to normal. After a minute, he pulled away and straightened his shoulders, wiping his eyes with deliberation. Then, leaning forward, he bowed his head and braced his arms against the sink.

"I'm sorry. I guess I should have walked this off a bit longer."

I let out a long breath. "I'll be more than happy to accept your apology for any number of things you've done recently, but this isn't one of them. I'm your wife, Lee. You don't have to hide your feelings from me. I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Good. Then that's one less thing we have to worry about, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess it is." His eyes swept over me in one endless, longing look. "My God, Amanda, you look incredible."

The atmosphere in the steamy room took a decidedly different turn. As Lee's eyes continued to devour me, I was acutely conscious of our state of undress. However inclined I was to give in to his very obvious desire, bitter experience had taught me that passion wouldn't solve our problems. Though I had no fear that he would disappear again, I was determined that, this time, we were going to talk before we made love.

I took his hand, drawing him from the strange intimacy of the bathroom. "Come on. I think there are a few things we need to discuss."

"I'm sure you're right." He gave a short laugh. "What I'm not sure of is . . . where to start."

"The beginning is always a good place. How did you end up in Crumwald's unit?"

He glanced at the lamp still burning on the dresser. "Do you mind?" he asked, careful to avoid my gaze. "The light kinda hurts my eyes."

"No, that's fine." Actually, I was as grateful as he was for the cover of darkness. My gaze swept over his battered body one last time as he flipped the light switch. I had a feeling the story he was about to tell would be equally hard on me as well.


	17. Part IV Chapter 16

Saturday, August 29, 1987

9:57 a.m.

Bright sunlight filled the room when at last I awoke.  Indistinct noises greeted me from downstairs, but I pushed them to the back of my mind.  I couldn't concern myself with my family today.  The boundaries of my world were defined, for the moment, by the loving arms that held me.  Though I knew it wouldn't—couldn't—stay that way for long, Lee and I deserved a few precious hours of selfishness before real life intruded once again.

I smiled as his mouth grazed my shoulder.  "How are you feeling this morning?" I asked, bringing his fingers to my lips as I twisted in his arms. 

"Better.  Whole."  He let out a deep breath.  "You were right, talking about it did help."

Though I doubted one conversation had healed him, at least he'd made a start.  It hadn't been easy for him to recount the circumstances of his "initiation" into the terror squad he'd infiltrated, but I could see it had done him good to open up a little.  There was a sense of peace about him this morning that I hadn't felt in a long time.  Not since before Memorial Day weekend . . .

"I can't believe Dr. Smyth has known about our marriage right from the start."

Lee smothered a yawn.  "Yeah, the bastard had a nice little dossier compiled, which he was quite happy to shove in my face that morning at the O'Ryan Club when he 'offered' me the mission.  He must have been spying on us for months."  He caught my eye.  "You do understand, don't you?  Why I had to do this, I mean?"

"I can understand why you might think you had to."  I chose my words carefully.  My husband's equilibrium, though intact, was still resting on shaky ground.

Lee pulled himself into a sitting position.  "The threat is real, Amanda.  The men behind the new Karbala are even more unbalanced than their predecessors.  I had to stop them before they reached American soil.  I couldn't take the chance of putting you or the boys in that kind of danger."  He fixed his eyes on the barred windows.  "Fat lot of good it did, huh?"

I sat up and gently massaged his left shoulder.  I could see the springs tightening inside him again, and I wanted to avoid another episode like the one last night. 

"I'm okay, Amanda."  His voice was even and controlled as he stilled my hand.  "Don't worry, I'm not going to unravel on you again."

"I'm not worried about that," I lied.  "I'm simply trying to make some sense of what's happened, that's all."

With a look that clearly showed his skepticism, he started to explain the past few months to me all over again.  "When Dr. Smyth ordered that command performance at the O'Ryan Club, he offered me a new assignment.  Latest intel reported that Anwar Ali, Birol's superior in Beirut, was in the process of organizing a new Karbala terror squad.  'Arbaalk,' they called themselves.  As if that could disguise them.  Crum's Special Forces unit had been tracking their activities since their arrival in London.  He already had an operative in place inside their cell—"

"Your partner, Gloria."

He nodded.  "But since the threat was specifically targeted here at home, the President wanted an American operative in place, too."

"Why you?"

"I was the agent of record, the agent who'd snagged the great Addi Birol.  I knew his operation, knew how Karbala worked.  I would have turned it down—I was going to turn it down—until Smyth played his trump card."

"I don't understand."

His expression hardened.  "Our marriage.  He threatened to make it public knowledge in some very dangerous circles if I turned down the assignment.  I suppose he might have been bluffing, but I couldn't take the chance.  Not with our family, not with Phillip and Jamie . . ."

I stiffened.  "But that's blackmail!"

Lee snorted.  "At the Agency, it's called 'expediency.'  I don't really blame Smyth.  Billy, either, for that matter.  I was the most qualified agent for the job, the one with the highest chance of success.  They only did what they had to do to ensure national security was best served."

"Billy went along with this . . . this emotional extortion?"  Pain sharpened my voice.  "No wonder he could barely look me in the eye.  Did he . . . was he part of the rest of it, too?"  I bristled.  "Did the two of you conference about the most efficient way to push your wife out of your life?" 

"No, Amanda.  I managed to do that all on my own."  He turned from me, sliding down on the bed to stare blankly up at the ceiling.  "It's the first rule of psychological warfare.  Know your opponent's weaknesses and exploit them.  I saw you that night, in that bar in Bethesda.  I knew you'd followed me.  That's why I . . ."  He paused for a second then sighed heavily.  "I'm not proud of myself for what I put you through, believe me.  But Scarecrow followed the rules of the game.  He did what he had to do in the most expedient way."

"'Expedient.'  I think I'm beginning to hate that word."  I glared at Lee, unable to hide my cold contempt for a system that would sanction such needless cruelty.

Lee closed his eyes.  "In the end, I couldn't go through with it, though.  Not after you came to my apartment that night.  That's why I wrote you the letter.  I didn't want to die without at least letting you know the truth."

"Die?" I rolled on my side, frowning as I studied him.  "What are you talking about?"

He turned wintry eyes on me.  "I didn't expect to come back.  The odds said this was a suicide mission."

I drew in a sharp breath.  Suddenly it all made sense . . .the way he'd behaved, the cruel, hurtful things he'd done to drive me away.  What did it matter if he ripped apart the very foundation of our marriage?  He never intended to be around to put the pieces back together.

"I still don't know what happened to blow this all to hell."  He stared vacantly at the ceiling again.  "You, your mother, the boys—you were all supposed to be safe once I'd gone.  I can't figure out where it went off the wire, how Ali and his lieutenants put it all together.  They didn't recognize me, I'm certain of that. But there must have been something—"

"Does that really matter now?"  A sob pushed out of my throat.  "I'm glad this blew up in your face, Lee Stetson, do you hear me?  Glad!  I want you here, with me, with our family, and if national security has a problem with that, well, it can go straight to hell!"

Stunned from his moody silence, he rolled toward me.  "You won't get an argument from me on that score," he said, a small spark of life lighting his face.  "I've had enough 'national security' to last two lifetimes."

"Me, too."  I cupped his bearded cheeks in my hands, a slow grin forming.  "I can't get used to all this fuzz."

"Do you want me to shave?" he asked, his voice suddenly deep and husky.

I snaked my tongue along my upper lip and shook my head.  "Actually, at the moment I was kind of wondering what it would be like to kiss a man with a beard.  I don't think I've ever done that before.  Not really."

"Well, we can't have that, can we?"   His eyes were brimming over with an odd mixture of tenderness and passion.  I watched, mesmerized, as he leaned closer and touched his lips lightly to mine.  "How was that?"

"I don't know," I said, with a happy laugh.  "I think maybe I need to try it again."

He obliged, and, as he kissed me once more, I let out a contented sigh.  His lips pressed against mine, softly at first, then more and more firmly, until the novelty wore off and the tickle of his beard on my skin became yet another caress.  I could hear the sounds of his labored breaths as he grew more and more aroused.  I parted my lips, a low moan breaking from my chest as he slipped his tongue inside.   The kiss was long and sweet, everything I could have wanted, our mouths slow and searching as we rediscovered one another.  Though I could sense an undefined urgency in his kisses, at the same time, they seemed different, more . . . tentative.  

"Lee," I whispered, when at last we parted.  "Is everything okay?"

A look of embarrassment washed over him.  "Amanda, that stuff I said to you . . . about the two of us being, uh, sexually incompatible . . ."

"Yes?"  I knew where he was headed, but I was unwilling to let him off the hook too easily.

"You know that was  . . . was . . ."

"Was what?"  Call it petty, but after everything he'd put me through, I was kind of enjoying seeing him squirm. 

"It was all . . . well, you know, a bunch of . . . of. . ."  Lee's eyes darted away from mine as he let out a frustrated groan. 

Suddenly I didn't have the heart to continue.  "Hogwash?" I supplied.

"Not quite the word I had in mind, but it'll do."  His smile of relief dissolved into seriousness as his finger followed the curve of my cheek.  "I'm so sorry.  The last thing I want is for you to doubt yourself.  You are the sexiest, most incredible woman I've ever known.  When we're together, it takes all my self-control not to drag you into the nearest bedroom and make love to you for hours."

I tapped my finger against his lips to silence him.  "Is that a threat, Stetson, or a promise?"  

He smiled.  "Oh, most definitely a promise."

I kissed him again, and, this time, he didn't hold back.  I could almost feel the emotion, hot, swirling and deep, streaming from his heart to mine.  Each touch was a tender avowal of his love, and I pressed against him with a wondrous sigh.

"Is this okay?" I asked, caressing a particularly colorful bruise with the tips of my fingers. 

"It's more than okay, but . . ." He grinned.  "Well, maybe you should take it just a little easier on me this time, tiger."

I felt a hot blush enflame my cheeks as memories of that last frenzied lovemaking washed over me.  "I'll try to restrain myself," I teased back, touching my lips gently to another large, purplish area. 

"I love you, Amanda," he said, with a sigh.  "More than you'll ever know." 

My mouth immediately found his.  The world was reduced to only the two of us, as we showed each other the love we'd so long denied.  It flowed between us, growing with each half-spoken word, until it finally crested atop the wave of our desire. 

"I love you," I whispered, drawing out the words until I could feel the warmth of them, just as surely as I felt the heat rising inside me.  I gave myself up to the exquisite feelings, sensations so powerful they swept everything else away.  They enveloped us both, lifting and spinning us faster and faster, until at last they burned themselves out, leaving us weak and dizzy from the experience.

When our breathing at last returned to normal, Lee snuggled my body in that special niche beside his.  "Dear God, Amanda, I've missed you.  Missed this.  And, just for the record, I'm not talking about sex."

I sighed.  "I think that was the worst thing about all of this.  Not feeling close to you."

His lips brushed my hair.  "Never again, I promise you."

"I'm gonna hold you to that."  My stomach growled, and we both laughed.  "But right now, I'm too hungry to think about anything else."

"Me, too.  I don't suppose they have room service in this joint."

"Not unless you want to invite Mother in here with a tray."

"Uh, no thanks.  The kitchen table will do fine."

I untangled myself from his embrace.  "I'm going to grab a quick shower.  Care to join me, big fella?"

Lee grinned.  "Now that's an invitation I can't refuse."

He sat up and rubbed his eyes, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep.  I realized if I didn't move now, I never would.  Forcing myself to leave the warm comfort of our bed, I started toward the bathroom, but his hand held me back.

"Uh, Amanda."  He met my eyes with a sheepish smile.  "It just occurred to me.  Should we have used something?"

"No," I said, a little too quickly.  "It's okay." 

He smiled, his relief clearly evident.  I opened my mouth to tell him the reason why we had no need for protection, but somehow I couldn't find the words.  Instead, I sat there watching as he got out of bed, stretched the kinks out of his sore body and padded into the bathroom. 

He's still reorienting, I told myself as I heard the water begin to flow.  There'll be time enough later, once he gets his land-legs.  My stomach rumbled loudly again, voicing its displeasure.  Pushing off the bed, I joined my husband in the shower. 

The news had waited this long; it could wait a little longer. 


	18. Part IV Chapter 17

Sunday, August 30, 1987

2:46 p.m.

The baseball made a "thwacking" sound as it hit Lee's borrowed mitt. "How was that one?" Phillip asked, obviously proud of the progress he'd made while Lee was away.

"Not bad, Chief." Grinning, Lee tossed the ball back. "Not bad at all. But this time, try rotating your wrist slightly as you release. It'll put some spin on the ball."

Phillip's brow knit into a frown of concentration as he wound up. "Like that?"

Lee winced as he fielded the pitch. "Exactly like that. I can see now why you earned that title."

Phillip shrugged off the praise. "It was only junior league. But the coach says if I keep practicing, there's a pretty good chance I'll be able to play on the high school team this year, even if I am only a freshman."

Lee cleared his throat, his eyes seeking mine before he turned back to our son. "We'll have to make sure you get in lots of practice time, then. But, for now, how about we call it a day? I'm no match for Arlington's Junior MVP."

As Phillip began to collect the baseball equipment, Lee crossed the lawn and sat beside me on the porch swing. "He's developing quite an arm. That coach might be right about him making the high school team."

"Of course, which high school team remains to be seen, doesn't it?" When he didn't answer, I rested my hand on my husband's knee. "Phillip's missed practicing with you. Joe isn't much of a ball player."

"Neither is Jamie, I guess." Lee jerked his head in the direction of the house. "I couldn't get him to come outside."

He tried to disguise it, but I could see the hurt in his eyes. Lee had worked so hard to earn Jamie's trust; now, it appeared, we were right back at square one. "If it's any consolation, he's giving me the silent treatment, too. He's hurt, Lee, hurt and angry. I have a feeling it's going to take more than one of my pep talks to turn the tide this time."

"We lied to him, Amanda. He has a right to be damned angry." Lee's hand covered mine. "For that matter, so do you."

I looked at him through half-lidded eyes. "Did I say I wasn't angry?"

He shook his head then looked away. "You don't know how many times I wanted to walk away from the deception and tell you what was going on."

"What stopped you?" I asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"I kept thinking of the alternative. Of what might happen if the knowledge of our marriage made you and the boys a target. Living our lives always looking over our shoulders, waiting, wondering if this would be the day disaster hit . . ." He snorted. "I guess that's exactly what did happen, though. Despite my good intentions, I've managed to rip our family to shreds."

"You know what they say about good intentions." I studied the puffy white clouds that filled the afternoon sky, closing my eyes as a fat, wispy elephant floated by. "The road to hell is paved with them."

There was a gentle pressure as Lee took my hand, his thumb toying with the rings that I was finally able to wear. "I'll bet you're sorry now that you took that package, huh?"

I opened my eyes and took his face between my hands. "The only thing I'm sorry about is that you chose to invent that ridiculous cover story, instead of coming clean about your assignment. I know we have complicated jobs, but this is our marriage, our life together. I want it to be built on a foundation of truth, not lies. Otherwise, we'll never survive, Lee."

Grasping my wrists, he brought my hands to his lips and tenderly kissed the palms. "From now on, Amanda, I promise."

I smiled. "Then I think I have something that belongs to you." Reaching behind me, I unhooked the small clasp and withdrew a thin chain from beneath my blouse. "Mr. Melrose retrieved our rings from your apartment a few days ago," I said as I removed the gold wedding band and slipped it back on his finger. "Wearing yours around my neck made me feel closer to you, but this is where it really belongs." I held his large hand between my own, the way I'd done that day in the Judge's office when we'd exchanged vows.

"I love you, Mrs. Stetson," Lee whispered. "You know that, don't you?"

"I've always known that," I replied through my gathering tears. "That's what kept me going these past few months. That and the hope that, one day, I'd walk out my back door and there you'd be, asking me to put that ring back on your finger again."

He raised an eyebrow. "And if I had, Amanda? You'd have let me in the door, no questions asked?"

"Sure." A smirk played across my face. "Whatever pieces were left when I was finished with you. I'll have you know I'm now a fully certified graduate of the Dr. Pain School of Rear-Kicking."

Lee flashed me a dimpled grin. "That sounds kinda interesting. Once I'm feeling one hundred percent, I might have to test those new skills of yours."

"Anytime." I laughed, accepting his unspoken challenge. "I don't plan on going anywhere, do you?"

Instead of answering, he tilted his head and pressed his lips to mine. His kiss was slow and wondrously thorough, and I decided, in some instances, actions really did speak louder than words. His moist, firm mouth demanded a response; I slid my arms around his neck and pulled him against me. The porch swing creaked in time to our movements as we spent a few pleasant moments necking affectionately. Our kisses soon grew in intensity, like a slowly gathering storm, until the white-hot desire spreading through our veins threatened to scorch us both.

"Do you want to go upstairs?" Lee murmured, his lips traveling down my neck to my shoulder.

I was about to agree when I heard the front door slam violently. I pulled out of my husband's embrace just in time to see Jamie glare at us before taking off toward the woods. I started after him, but Lee's arms held me back.

"Let him go. He can't get far. This place is crawling with security."

"But he saw . . . he must think . . ."

"That we care about each other?" Lee raised an eyebrow. "I certainly hope so."

Shaking my head, I jammed my hands into my pockets and stepped onto the grass, searching for a glimpse of the blue t-shirt Jamie had been wearing.

Lee put his hands on my shoulders as he came up behind me. "Look, Amanda, I know he's had a lot to deal with these past few days, but, as much as you might want to, I don't think you can make this better for him. Jamie needs to work this out in his own way, on his own terms."

I frowned. "I thought you told me that's what you hated most about the Colonel. That he always left you on your own to figure things out."

"Trust me, there's a world of difference between taking a momentary step back and being emotionally unavailable all the time."

His tone was a gentle chastisement. "You're right," I said at last, my lips forming a wistful smile. Hands pressing against my stomach, I added, almost to myself, "I guess I need to stop thinking of Jamie as my baby."

Lee laughed. "You will if you know what's good for you. Boys his age need some space to test their wings. Give him that now, and he'll come to you when he's ready. You'll see."

Blinking the moisture from my eyes, I turned to my husband. "Jamie's pretty lucky to have you in his life, even if he doesn't happen to realize it at the moment. You're a good father."

"It's funny, I never really thought I'd have that chance. To be a father, I mean. Thank you for sharing your sons with me."

"You're more than welcome." I stepped into his embrace, filling my lungs with his familiar masculine scent. It was now or never; I couldn't have asked for a better opening if I'd orchestrated it myself.

"Lee," I said, searching the hazel eyes I loved so well. "There's something I need to talk to you about. I . . . well, we're—"

"Scarecrow, Amanda."

The curt salutation shattered the moment. I felt Lee's body tense, poised for action, as he released me to turn to our visitor. I somehow managed to stammer a greeting as he proffered a decidedly cool, "Hello, Billy. I've been expecting you."

Billy cleared his throat, his eyes darting from Lee's to mine. "Something unavoidable came up."

"Yes," Lee responded in a tone I'd never heard from him, at least where Billy Melrose was concerned. "It always does."

The animosity between them was readily apparent. I watched them face off with grim fascination, much the way a gaper is drawn to an accident on the highway. Despite what he'd said earlier, Lee quite obviously held Billy accountable for his part in recruiting him for this last assignment. As I remembered the agonizing months when Billy's silence had shut me out of the loop, I found myself in agreement.

Our supervisor appeared to understand. An emotion I chose to call remorse had him studying his brown shoelaces before he finally confronted Lee. But when he spoke, his tone was all business. "Let's take a walk, Scarecrow."

"No, thanks." Lee folded his arms across his chest. "I'm done playing these games. Anything you need to say to me, you can say in front of Amanda or not at all."

Billy shot him a challenging look; Lee squared his shoulders and stood his ground. The lengthening silence between them made me feel uneasy enough to want to play the peacemaker, but one look at my husband's face silenced me. Billy must have seen that flint-edged expression, too, because he capitulated with a tired sigh.

"I had intended to brief you yesterday on the arrangements for your relocation," he began, tacitly including me in the conversation, "but there's been an unforeseen development."

"What, the government's all out of new identities?" Lee quipped, the hard edge still evident in his voice.

Mr. Melrose had obviously taken all he intended to. "Cut the crap, Scarecrow. I've got enough to stomach at the moment without your vitriol seasoning the load."

Lee immediately slipped back into agent-mode. "What's gone down?"

Billy licked his lips. "Ali's snatched one of our agents. Francine."

An icy fear wrapped itself around my heart. "Francine?" I repeated, my pulse pounding.

Billy's hard expression softened. "It looks as if we may have wrongly surmised that you were the target of that bombing, Amanda. While our security was focused here, on you and your family, they made another run on Francine last night."

As the reality of Billy's words sank in, all I could manage was a stunned, "No!"

Lee's shock appeared to rival mine. "Are you absolutely certain, Billy? Maybe she's off on one of those weekend sabbaticals of hers."

"I wish it was as simple as that, believe me, but there's no doubt. Arbaalk grabbed her. Beaman saw it go down."

Lee's brows shot up. "Since when does Beaman work the field?"

"He wasn't working." Billy shook his head, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was about to say. "Evidently the two of them had just finished dinner when it happened. Effrom was worked over pretty badly, but he managed to make a positive identification this morning after he regained consciousness. It was Ali's first lieutenant."

"Karras." Lee spat the word, his hands protectively massaging his sore ribs. "I take it your little clean-up operation was a bust, then."

Billy paused for a beat before he answered. "Not entirely, but he and Ali managed to slip through our net when we reeled the others in. We have no idea where they've gone."

"Then sweat his soldiers, Billy! Find out! Karras is a sadistic bastard. It won't take long for Francine to give it up." He closed his eyes for a moment, as if lost in a memory too painful to voice. "How the hell did Arbaalk connect Francine to all of this, anyway?"

Billy shrugged. "Who knows? Crumwald's people think her computer search may have tipped them off. Evidently she'd been conducting a concurrent investigation of her own."

"Damn!" Lee slammed his fist against his palm as he paced. "What the hell was she thinking?"

"I don't know. But there is one upside to all this, I suppose. If Amanda wasn't the target, as we originally believed, then her family—your family—hasn't been compromised."

Lee's eyes blazed. "I doubt that's of much comfort to Francine at the moment."

"It could be, Scarecrow." Billy cleared his throat. "Most likely your cover hasn't been blown, either. It's a risk, I know, but your marriage to Amanda is still a secret—"

"More emotional extortion, Billy?" Lee's voice was deep and low. "First Amanda, now Francine?"

"It's the most expedient way."

"The hell it is! Mobilize a strike team, get her out!"

"A large force won't work here."

Lee sneered. "Is that you talking, or another verse of the gospel according to Smyth?" When Billy didn't dignify his remark with an answer, Lee raised his voice, no longer caring who heard him. "For God's sake, Francine's your friend, too. She's in trouble! If you won't back her up through this Agency—"

"That's exactly what I'm trying to do!" Billy shouted back, anger finally demolishing his control. "Don't you think I know what I've cost you, Lee? You and Amanda both? I'm painfully aware of which one of my agents is in trouble, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year!"

Lee started to speak, but Billy cut him off. "Think whatever you like about me, but it won't change anything. I did what I had to do last May, what was best for everyone concerned—this country as well as you, personally. I wasn't the one who gave Smyth the ammunition in the first place, you know. And if you think he would have had any compunction about exposing your marriage, you're dead wrong."

I saw the muscles in Lee's forearm harden as he stepped closer to Billy, but as my husband's eyes sought mine, I read the bitter acquiescence in them. The mystery marriage had been a mistake from day one; we were both painfully aware of that now.

"Billy," Lee said, his tone modulating infinitesimally. "You were the one who told us that when you find that someone special, you should grab on with everything you've got. That's all we were doing here. We never intended for our personal happiness to end up putting you on the professional hot seat."

Billy's eyes flashed for a moment before they softened, too. "I don't mind a little heat, you know that. I just like to know what direction the fire's likely to come from, that's all."

Lee flinched at Billy's expression. Words were never my husband's strong suit, so I voiced the apology he'd been dancing around. "We were wrong not to tell you, sir. You deserved to know the truth, as our supervisor and as our friend."

As Lee nodded his concurrence, the last tightness in Billy's face relaxed. "This is a damn lonely job in an even lonelier business," he said, his sad eyes sweeping over both of us. "Every day I send ordinary men and women out to do the unthinkable. Sometimes they come back, sometimes they don't. Friends are a luxury a man in my position can't afford. There are times, though, when you find yourself caring on a personal level. Despite your good intentions."

Lee smiled cheerlessly as he caught my eye. "I hear the road to hell is paved with them."

"I think it is, at that." Billy expelled a long, pent-up breath as his gaze deliberately settled on Lee. Some strange, unspoken communication passed between them, until at last Lee broke the connection. Walking away, he brushed his hand clumsily through his hair in the motion I'd come to realize signaled his distress. "I can't," he whispered harshly. "Don't ask me, Billy."

"I understand." Billy's voice was tight. "You've already given more than your due." Bowing his head, he closed his eyes, the gesture the only sign of his own distress. "You've spent two months with those bastards, Scarecrow. You know as well as anyone what's in store for her before they're through."

Unable to stop himself, Lee turned to me, a look of singular pain embedded in his blue-gray eyes. I could see what he was thinking. "No," I whispered in anguish, even as memories from another place and time echoed in my mind . . .

_"It'd be kinder to use the bullet." _

_Lee's voice sounds flat as Birol gleefully describes my fate. I can almost feel those cold, black eyes raking over me, the twisted desire so readily apparent._

_"I'm buying time, Amanda," Lee tells me, his voice rough with emotion. "I'm not going to let him sell you to the Libyans. Two years, three in the desert, the Bekka valley . . . every so often they put you on parade. Then one day . . . I can't. You'd give it up."_

_"Give what up?" I ask, in little more than a faint whisper._

_For the first time, Lee's eyes grow wide and fearful. "The will to live. The only thing a hostage has left."_

"Amanda . . . Amanda. Hey, partner, come back to me."

Lee's gravelly voice pulled me into the present. "It's all my fault," I murmured as I looked up into his troubled eyes.

"What is?" he asked gently.

I tried to answer, but, somehow, I couldn't. Lee reached out to steady me as the ground beneath my feet began to sway; I pushed him away.

Bile rose in my throat. Bringing a hand to my mouth, I dashed across the lawn, into the house. I caught a glimpse of Phillip's startled face as I took the stairs two at a time, heard my mother's cry as I passed her on the way to the master bedroom. Reaching the blessed sanctuary of the bathroom at last, I pressed my face against the cool tile.

It didn't help. I locked the door as my churning emotions took physical form. I knew Lee wouldn't be far behind me. I bent over the toilet, hoping to finish before he heard, but I couldn't seem to stop the awful retching.

I closed my eyes, willing the dry heaves to end, but all I could picture was the menacing image of Addi Birol. Except this time, he'd found a new victim to torment. In my mind's eye, I saw Francine's blue eyes widen as Birol began yet another vicious interrogation. Her look of ignorance wasn't a bluff; she knew nothing about the covert investigation I'd initiated under her clearance code. And now I was powerless to help her.

Birol knew it, too; his taunting voice mocked me. _"That's true, Amanda. You cut me off from anything that would make this easier on her. You, Amanda . . . you. Amanda. . . Amanda . . ."_

"Amanda!" Lee pounded on the door, his voice rising. "If you don't answer me, I'm going to break this door down!"

"Just a minute," I managed to croak as I pushed myself up from the floor. Stumbling to the sink, I rinsed my mouth and straightened my disheveled hair as best I could. But I couldn't will the color back into my too-pale face.

As I opened the door, Lee immediately bombarded me with questions. "Are you okay? What the hell happened out there? You're as white as a sheet!"

The rest of my family shared his alarm. Phillip shuffled from foot to foot, unconsciously chewing on his fingers, while Jamie, who had evidently returned in the midst of the chaos, leaned stiffly against the far wall, his already wide eyes magnified by his glasses. Mother stood between both boys, wearing her worry as a scolding frown.

Though I proclaimed myself to be fine, Lee ignored my protests and insisted that I lie down. As he helped me to the bed, my pleading eyes found my mother's.

She stepped forward to give his shoulder a maternal squeeze. "Lee, be a dear and go downstairs and bring me that open can of soda from the refrigerator. Flat ginger ale is a sure-fire cure for a queasy stomach."

"Please," I entreated, when he seemed reluctant to leave me. "That sounds pretty good."

Nodding her approval as Lee kissed me on the forehead and headed downstairs, Mother turned to Phillip and Jamie with a ready smile. "Now boys, staring at your mother is definitely not going to cure her upset stomach. Go find something else to do and give her some peace and quiet."

Phillip hesitated then grudgingly agreed. "Come on, Jamie," he said, grabbing his brother by the arm. "Let's go play a game of Scrabble."

As Jamie allowed himself to be escorted from my room, I bit my lip. Phillip must be pretty worried to willingly suggest a game where his younger brother was certain to be the victor.

"Okay, Missy," Mother said as soon as the door closed behind the boys. "Where's the anti-nausea medication the doctor gave you?"

"In my nightstand drawer."

Fetching a glass of water from the bathroom, she found the pills and handed me one. Though her expression easily betrayed her thoughts, I was thankful she chose not to voice them aloud. I had enough to deal with at the moment without adding my mother's "if only's" to the rapidly growing pile in my head.

"If only" a decent man hadn't been blackmailed into an indecent lie . . .

"If only" Joe had chosen to give me Lee's letter instead of withholding it . . .

"If only" I had confronted Billy when I'd first overheard his discussion with Dr. Smyth, instead of taking matters into my own hands . . .

"If only" there was a less painful way to make this all right again.

I let out a deep sigh. In a few minutes, Lee would return and together we would make a decision. I prayed that somewhere, somehow, we would find the strength to see it through.


	19. Part IV Chapter 18

Monday, August 31, 1987

5:06 a.m.

It was early morning when I began to stir.  In the fuzzy limbo somewhere between sleeping and waking, my surroundings seemed alien, even hostile.  I reached for Lee, to snuggle against his comforting warmth, but he wasn't beside me.  As I jerked into a sitting position, I suddenly realized it was the absence of his breathing that had startled me awake.

The feeling of déjà vu was overwhelming.  "Lee!" I cried.  "Where are you?"

"Right here."

I exhaled loudly.  It wasn't like the last time; he hadn't vanished without a word.  "Come back to bed," I said, the relentless arms of fatigue tugging at me as I lay down.  "It's not morning yet." 

"I don't want to disturb you."

"Hey, you can disturb me all you want, pal," I said, with a sleepy laugh.  "I don't mind."

When he didn't answer, I shook off my drowsy fog and rolled over.  In the low light from the bathroom, I could see Lee standing by the window, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared out onto the compound's wooded grounds.  He made no sound; only the slight rise and fall of his chest told me he was breathing.

"Are you okay?"  Concern warred with alarm as I took note of the too-rigid lines of his body. 

"Not really." 

It was as if the words were coming from a stranger.  He must have heard me get out of bed to go to him, because he immediately turned.  "Please don't."  His flat, unemotional tone held me at arm's length.  "This is already difficult enough."

I swallowed hard.  "What time does Billy come?"

"A little before nine." 

"So soon?"  I looked at the clock on the nightstand.  "I thought we'd have most of the day, at least."

"Billy wants to move as quickly as possible.  They've already had her for over thirty-six hours, Amanda."

Crawling back into bed, I drew the covers tightly around me.  Images and feelings crowded into my mind again, thick and fast.  That barren room, its walls painted white . . . the ache in my lower back from hours of standing . . . the wooly sensation that hit on the second full day without sleep.  For a hostage, thirty-six hours felt like thirty-six lifetimes. 

At length, Lee walked back to the bed and sat down.  His eyes swept over me, looking but not really seeing.  His voice sounded oddly mechanical as he informed me that there were some things we needed to talk about.

"Yes?"  I couldn't say more; the air in the room seemed unusually thin. 

Lee chose to study the woven pattern on the blue cotton blanket instead of meeting my eye.  "The lease on my apartment is up at the beginning of October.  The management company should be sending the renewal notice soon." 

"I'll take care of it."

"The furniture . . ."

"What I can't fit into the house, I'll put in storage."

"I've made arrangements with Billy to give you access to my Agency bank accounts.  He'll have some papers for you to sign."

"Okay."  I agreed quickly to keep my voice from cracking.  My husband was drawing away from me a little more with each word, and I didn't know what to do about it.

"There are other personal accounts, too, and emergency funds."  His demeanor was matter-of-fact, as if ticking off some mental checklist.  "You can find the information in our safe deposit box at the bank, along with the registered copy of our marriage license."

I nodded, barely able to process the information.  It seemed wrong somehow that the sum total of our lives could be reduced to leases, bank accounts and legal documents.  For the first time, I realized why Lee had found it easier to walk away without a word.  This conversation seemed irretrievably final.

He must have managed to read my mind because, for a moment, I caught a glimpse of the man I loved beneath that icy, professional mask.  "It's for the best, Amanda.  At least this way, you and the boys have a chance for a normal life."

Tears filled my eyes; I shook them off and reached for him.  "I don't want a normal life, Stetson."  My thumbs combed through his soft whiskers as I cupped his cheeks.  "Haven't you figured that out by now?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.  Something passed across his face instead, some emotion so elemental I could barely put a name to it.  It caused his whole body to tense, his arms becoming so rigid they shook.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it was over, the battle within put to rest.  Blindly, he reached for me and, in one convulsive motion, pulled me into the warm cavern of his embrace.  "I thought it would be easier," he said, his words a soft moan in my ear.  "I thought, if I distanced myself, it wouldn't hurt so much."

"I know."  Stroking my hands across his back, I murmured other words of comfort, whether for his benefit or mine, I wasn't quite sure.  I only knew that I didn't want him to leave, didn't want him to put himself in that kind of danger again.  I thought of Phillip and Jamie, of what Lee had come to mean to both my sons, and of the tiny life inside me, the son or daughter who might never get the chance to know its father.  And, lastly, selfishly, I thought of myself, of how much I loved and needed my husband.  I could stop him from leaving, I knew; it would only take two simple words.  Words that seemed to take on a life of their own as they tried to force their way out of my mouth . . . 

But I wouldn't let them.  Though there were reasons enough for him to stay, none was more compelling than the one forcing him to go.  Francine Desmond was a comrade and a friend; I could no more turn my back on her than Lee could, especially since my actions, however unwitting, had landed her in the middle of hell.

"I'm so sorry," I said at last, my tone as frayed as my nerves.  "If only I hadn't pirated Francine's clearance code to run that search—"

"That's enough."  Grasping my shoulders, he forced me to meet his gaze.  He'd darkened his hair and beard again last night, and, for a moment, I almost didn't recognize him.  But there was no mistaking that voice.  "I won't have you blaming yourself for this."  

His words demanded a response, but I couldn't give it.  Lee's reassurances to the contrary, I was once more acutely aware of the terrible impasse I'd created. 

"Stop it, Amanda, do you hear?"  He shook me lightly.  "This is not your fault.  You were only doing what I taught you to do."

The skin on my forehead crinkled as I frowned.  "Break the rules?"

A sardonic smile curled his lips.  "I prefer to think of it as bending them a bit.  It's necessary sometimes."

I shivered.  "Somehow, I don't think Dr. Smyth would see things quite that way."  Not only had I used a code level I had no clearance for, I'd compromised a fellow agent in the process.  I forced a laugh.  "Tell me, do they allow conjugal visits in federal prison?"

Lee's hazel eyes narrowed speculatively.  "Let's not find out.  Smyth is an ass.  He'd take great pleasure in nailing you to the wall, simply to get to me.  Don't give him that chance.  No matter how good they say confession is for the soul, it doesn't apply in this instance.  Not even to Billy.  Understood?"

I cast my eyes downward.  "But Francine—" 

"I'll get her out of this.  It's not too late.  If Arbaalk went to the trouble of snatching her, they don't intend to kill her.  Not right away."

My mouth went dry.  The alternative Lee presented was hardly reassuring.  That soft, accented voice in my head seemed to agree.  _"Break the body to break the mind," _he whispered, a prurient chuckle underscoring his words.  My heart pounded and my hands grew clammy.

"Amanda."  Lee's voice sifted through the swirling fog in my head.  "She's a trained agent.  She knows the score—same as we all do."

I breathed deeply, willing the physical sensations away; I could almost feel Birol's hands on my skin.  Yes, we all knew the score . . . some of us better than others.

Lee warmed my cold hands in his.  "There's one more thing you can do for me," he said, his voice growing even more serious.

"I was already planning to call the Colonel," I told him, avoiding his eyes.  "It doesn't seem fair that my family knows about our marriage while he's still in the dark."

"Amanda."  Lee squeezed my hands.  "I wasn't talking about the Colonel, and you know it.  I'm talking about these flashbacks you've been having—"

"I haven't been having flashbacks."  I struggled to keep the shudder from my voice.  "Only a few bad moments . . . here and there."

"Yeah," Lee snorted, "and I'm the head of the Agency.  Don't even try to fool me, Amanda.  I can tell by your reaction yesterday that this has been going on for some time.  I think you should talk to Pfaff again."

It was my turn to study the view from the window.  I extracted my hands from his and padded across the room, rubbing the gooseflesh from my arms.  The first hints of light were beginning to streak the sky, casting everything in an orange glow.  It was going to be another sunny day.  "I can deal with this," I assured him.  "I've got it under control."

His skeptical laugh echoed in my ear as he crept up behind me.  "You really have picked up all my bad habits, haven't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Turning me, he tilted my chin up and forced me to meet his eye.  "Look, Amanda," he scolded sweetly, "if there's one thing you've managed to teach me, it's that you don't have to deal with your problems alone.  There are professionals at the Agency who can help you put this into perspective.  Let them."

I pressed my lips together.  Though I was little inclined at the moment to take anything the Agency had to offer, I could hardly refuse him.  "Okay.  If it will make you feel better, I'll talk to Dr. Pfaff."

"I think it will make you feel better.  Trust me on this, okay?  I need to know you're going to be all right." 

"I'll be all right as soon as you come home."  Ignoring the cold knot in my stomach, I concentrated on keeping my voice from shaking.  "How long—"

"As long as it takes."

He slipped his arms securely around me, cradling my head against his chest.  We stayed that way for a while, watching the sky grow lighter inch by inch outside our window, silently accepting what neither of us had the courage to say out loud.  The circumstances of the mission hadn't changed, just because Francine was in trouble.  The odds still said he wouldn't come back. 

I closed my eyes, listening to his heart thump in my ear, so strong and alive.  But the sound that often lulled me to sleep brought no comfort now.  The rapid beats seemed to tick off the time like some internal dead man's watch, its lethal mechanism relentlessly measuring what might turn out to be the last hours, minutes and seconds we'd ever spend together. 

I pushed out of his embrace.  My wild eyes sought his, but there was no solace in them, just the burning reflection of my own dread.  We stared at each other for a beat.  Then, without a word, he pulled me to him again.  As the sun's light at last filled the morning sky, his mouth met mine.  It was the searching, demanding kiss of a guilty lover . . . a lover who had already lost too much time.


	20. Part IV Chapter 19

Monday, August 31, 1987

8:47 a.m.

"Are you sure you won't have something more than coffee?  It's not very substantial, you know."

Lee cleared his throat.  "No, thanks, Dotty.  It all looks great, but I'm not much for eating in the morning.  Besides, I've got a long flight ahead of me."

Mother's response was lost in a clatter of china as she began to clear the breakfast dishes from the table.  I listened from the other room, ensconced in the big chair that Jamie had commandeered of late.  I understood why he liked it so much; the oversized cushions seemed to swallow me.  Bringing my feet up, I wrapped my arms around my legs, resting my chin on my knees as I pulled myself into a tight ball.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and I felt a clumsy pressure on my arm.  "Are you okay, Mom?" Phillip asked, giving me a quick hug. 

I nodded and smiled in a half-hearted attempt to reassure him.  Though, like Lee, he tried his best to hide it, I could tell he was worried.  Last night after dinner, when we had explained what was going to happen, Phillip's solemn eyes had never left mine.  Jamie, on the other hand, had spent the entire conversation contemplating his sneakers.

"Where's your brother?" I inquired as Phillip flung himself onto the couch. 

"Upstairs.  He won't come down."  He let out an exasperated groan.  "I don't see why he has to be such a Bozo about things."

"Because he's scared, Chief."  There was a look of weariness in Lee's eyes as he sank down beside Phillip.  "And scared people don't always do the things we think they should."

"Yeah, I guess.  But I'd still like to sock some sense into him."

"Hey, don't fight with your brother, okay?  I need you to take care of things until I get back."

My son pushed out his chest and sat up straighter.  "You can count on that.  It's just that . . ."

Lee gripped Phillip's shoulder.  "That what, son?" he asked, in a low voice.

Though Phillip had filled out this summer, his adolescent frame seemed to shrink back into boyishness beneath Lee's large hand.  "I just wish you didn't have to go, that's all," he blurted out, sounding much younger than his fourteen years, as well.

"Me, too, Chief."  Lee caught my eye.  "Me, too.  But I know the home front will be in good hands."

I watched them for a moment, the boy and the man, sitting side by side on the couch.  Without me, their paths might never have crossed.  Yet, at this moment, I felt inconsequential; they understood each other perfectly.

The staccato rhythm of twirling rotors signaled a helicopter's imminent arrival.  Lee shot me a grim smile as he gave Phillip's shoulder a squeeze.  "Sounds like my ride is here."

I glanced at the clock as we all rose. "Billy's as punctual as ever." 

"Yeah, he is," Lee mumbled.

Mother emerged from the kitchen to put a comforting arm around Phillip, who had tears in his eyes.  Lee's expression hardened as he watched, and I knew we had to do this fast.  I walked my husband to the door, our fingertips barely touching.

"Be careful."

"Always."

His voice sounded more guttural than usual.  He removed the gold wedding band from his finger and pressed it into my hand.  "Take care of this for me, okay?" 

His eyes were moist as he closed my fingers around the ring.  The metal was still warm, and I drew a deep breath.  "Only if you promise to turn up at my back door one of these days to claim it."

He smiled softly.  "I promise to try." 

His lips brushed over my forehead in a gesture of infinite tenderness.  I closed my eyes for a moment, savoring the memory of his lips on my skin.  "Lee," I whispered, unable to stop myself.  "I need to tell you something . . ."

But when I opened my eyes, he was gone.


	21. Part V Chapter 20

** V **

**__**

_"oh if i could i'd play out my part_

_i'd__ cup my hands and i'd _

_collect the rain that falls inside your heart. . ."_

**__**

Monday, September 28, 1987

7:12 a.m.

Mother's voice came from somewhere over my left shoulder.  "Can I fix you something else, darling?"

"No, thanks."  I concentrated on stirring my herbal tea.  "I'm fine." 

She slipped into a chair at the kitchen table and opened the morning paper.  "It looks like we're in for a spell of cooler weather.  Winter will be here before you know it."

The morning sunlight streaming through the trees did have a chillier look about it this morning.  "I suppose I'll have to take the boys shopping soon.  Phillip's grown a foot since last year.  He needs a new winter coat."

"They're having a pre-season sale at Jameson's."  Mother pointed to a large advertisement.  "Twenty-five percent off."

"Maybe we'll go this weekend."

Bringing the cup to my lips, I gingerly sipped the steaming tea.  I was beginning to understand why Lee had always insisted that "normal" was overrated.  If this discussion was any barometer, Mother and I had taken it to a new level.  It was amazing how doggedly we plugged every crack in the conversation with trivialities—shopping, sports, the weather—all in the name of maintaining that blessedly "normal" façade.

We almost succeeded.  That is, if you didn't count the way Phillip invented reasons to stay close to home, completing his chores before he was asked.  Or how Jamie balked at even the simplest request, his mood fluctuating from sullen silence to brash arrogance.  And Mother's countless trips to the front window to make sure the surveillance van was still safely parked down the street. 

Not to mention the fully-trained, fully-qualified field agent who jumped every time the phone rang, alternately hoping and dreading that her section chief would be on the other end of the line.  Even more fodder for the renowned Dr. Pfaff . . . 

Mother's chair scraped the floor as she rose.  The noise caught my attention, as she knew it would.  "The boys will be down any minute," she raised her eyebrows significantly, "so we should get moving."

She meant that her daily game of "let's pretend" was about to start all over again.  I couldn't figure out how she did it.  Just watching her rush from the refrigerator to cooking island then back again filled me with exhaustion.  Since our return from Mrs. McMurty's, she never stayed still for more than a few minutes.  She was forever in the kitchen, concocting some new treat, or in the den, straightening the very room she'd cleaned only hours before.

Only today, she moved with a stiffness I hadn't noticed before.  "Maybe you should let Phillip and Jamie get their own breakfast this morning," I advised.  "They're certainly old enough."

"I'm perfectly fine." 

I flinched at her peppery tone; I was in for it now. 

"Besides, Missy," she continued, "you're a fine one to talk.  At least I haven't spent the past month packing and re-packing a one bedroom apartment."

I squirmed under her gaze.  "There are a lot of loose ends to tie up at Lee's place."

"If you say so."  The butter sizzled as Mother dropped it into the hot frying pan.

I tried again.  "It's not exactly easy, you know.  I have to decide what furniture to bring to the house, what to put into storage.  Not to mention clothes, dishes, knick-knacks . . . it's amazing how much junk he's accumulated in one short year."  That last part was true, at any rate; Lee was the original pack rat.  At least now the silk robes and other lingerie stuffed into the back of his closet were mine.

Mother glowered at me over her shoulder, her spatula poised in mid-air.  "Mr. Melrose called again last night.  He wanted to know when you're coming back to work."

"I haven't decided yet." 

I couldn't face the Agency at the moment.  After my vituperative "debriefing" at Dr. Smyth's hands, it was all I could do to drag myself there twice a week for my sessions with Pfaff.  If I hadn't promised Lee . . .

Mother's exasperated "Humph" showed exactly what she thought of my response.  "Well, if my opinion counts for anything, I think it's high time you went back to work."

"I thought you'd be happy that I was staying home."  I pressed my back against the chair.  "I thought you hated my job."

"That's beside the point.  It would do you good to get back into the world again, instead of holing yourself up in that apartment every day."

"That's not what I'm doing."  

"Hmm-hmm." 

She returned to the stove and stirred the eggs with even more energy than before.  I suppose my protest did sound a bit hollow.  The apartment had become an escape of sorts, but it was the one place where I felt like Lee's wife, not some imposter playing a role.  I couldn't let it go.  

Mother turned off the burner and wiped her hands on her apron.  "Amanda, believe me, I do understand," she said, her tone gently admonishing this time.  "But clinging to the past only makes the present more painful.  I learned that the hard way when your daddy died."

"It's not the same thing at all."  I could hear the timbre of my voice rising.  "Lee's not dead.  He's coming back." 

"I know, dear."  Mother sighed.  "I'm worried about you, that's all."

"Don't be.  I'm fine.  Really." 

"Amanda—" 

I was spared further advice by the sound of feet thundering down the stairs, but the reprieve was short-lived.  As Jamie clomped into the kitchen wearing his football shoes, Mother shifted her attention to him.  "Jamie King!  What have we told you about wearing your cleats in the house?"

"They're new," he said, as if that explained it all.  "The coach told us we needed to break them in." 

"I'm fairly certain he didn't mean in the kitchen."  Mother's frown clearly showed her displeasure at his whiney tone.  "I'd appreciate it if you'd remove them before you permanently scuff my nice clean floor."

Jamie made a face as he grudgingly complied, grumbling under his breath, "It's Mom's floor, not yours."

As Mother pressed her lips together, I jumped up.  "That's quite enough, young man.  Apologize to your grandmother this minute!"

He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked down at his stocking feet.  "Sorry," he muttered, sounding every bit as insincere as he obviously felt.  Jamie's behavior had fluctuated between mildly obnoxious to downright rude all weekend; today wasn't shaping up to be much better. 

"Finish getting dressed or you're going to miss your bus," I told him as the dull beat of another headache began to throb behind my eyes.  I'd have to address his attitude later.  For the moment, I just wanted him safely corralled in school where, with any luck, I wouldn't have to deal with him for the next eight hours.

"I don't know what's gotten into that boy," Mother said as Jamie stomped upstairs.  "It's almost as if aliens swooped down and snatched his body overnight."

I cocked my head.  "Have you been watching the late, late show again, Mother?" 

She shot me a lethal look then stooped to collect the shoes Jamie left in the middle of the floor.  Holding them at arms length, she marched into the laundry room and deposited them in the basket we kept for old shoes.   Still maintaining her grim silence, she returned to the stove.

I twirled the tie on my robe around my finger.  "I'm sorry, Mother.  I was only trying to lighten the mood."

"I know, dear.  I just wish . . ."  Biting her lip, she divided the scrambled eggs onto two plates and set them on the breakfast bar.

I ran my finger around the rim of my mug as I took my seat again.  I knew full well what she wished; I wished it, too.  "Ever since Jamie started playing junior league football, he's been impossible to deal with," I said, steering away from dangerous ground.

Mother shrugged and walked to the sink.  I finished my tea, wondering again if letting Jamie play football instead of soccer had been a good idea.  Joe seemed to think that making some new friends would be good for him, but I wasn't as convinced.  The older group he'd been hanging around with seemed to be having the opposite effect.  He was behaving like a full-fledged teenager all of a sudden—and an insufferable one at that. 

"Maybe I should make him sit out the game this weekend," I mused out loud.

Mother turned on the water and squirted some dishwashing liquid in the sink, pausing to watch the bubbles rise.  "I'm not sure that would solve anything."

"It might make him think twice before subjecting us to that smart mouth of his."

"You're only addressing the symptom, Amanda, not the cause."

"You think I should make him give up football entirely?  It's the only thing he's taken an interest in since we came home."

Shrugging, she scrubbed the counter with vigorous strokes.  When the last speck of dirt had succumbed to her relentless sponge, she turned to me with a sigh.  "You know, in my day, a child would never have dreamed of speaking to an adult like that.  And if he did, it would have been followed by a quick trip to the woodshed."

I groaned.  "That solution's not even going to address the symptom, Mother."

"Probably not.  That boy could really use a man's influence." 

I pursed my lips and looked out the window.  "I'll ask Joe to talk to him again."

I could hear Mother behind me, splashing in the soapy water as she scoured the dishes.  What she wasn't saying came through loud and clear.  Joe was a great guy, but rebellious teenagers were out of his realm of experience.  Now, Lee's teen years would have provided a wealth of personal experience to draw on . . . 

I tore my eyes from the window just in time to see Mother drape the dishcloth over the bar on the oven door.  "Jamie is basically a good boy," she pronounced.  "I'm sure this is only a phase he's going through."

"Let's hope so."

"Sweetheart."  She came up behind me.  "Didn't I tell you that babies were a piece of cake compared to teenagers?"

I smiled, in spite of myself.  "And they don't wear cleats in the house, either."

"No," she chuckled, "they don't."  She pressed her hand to my shoulder.  "Don't you think it's time you told them?"

I felt my throat close.  "I can't.  I don't know how."

"If you wait too much longer, Mother Nature will solve that problem for you.  You're in your second trimester, Amanda."

"I'm not showing, am I?"  I stood up in alarm, my hands patting my stomach. 

Her sharp eyes took inventory as they swept over me.  "No, not really."

I nodded, relieved.  I'd spent a full ten minutes in front of the mirror last night, trying to decide if my condition was detectable to a casual observer.  I'd eventually reached the conclusion that I merely looked fat, not pregnant.  But that wouldn't be the case much longer. 

"I know I'll have to tell them soon, but . . ."  I combed my fingers through my hair.  "I just can't seem to find the right words.  This isn't going to be easy on them.  The boys may know Lee and I are married, but they can't tell anyone else."

"I still don't understand why not."

"It's complicated," I explained, hoping to head-off another discussion of Agency procedures.  Dr. Smyth had made his position all too clear in our interview—officially, Scarecrow was still assigned to the London office and that cover must be maintained at all costs.  "Lee and I are under contact zero orders until his mission is completed.  So, for now, it looks like I'll have to be a single mother.  It's safer that way—for him and for us."

Mother peered at me closely.  "Is that what's stopping you?  You're worried about what people are going to think?"

"No, Mother."  My simmering anger exploded, and I all but screamed, "I'm too busy worrying about Lee to give a damn about what 'people' think.  But the boys are a different matter.  After everything we've sprung on them these past few weeks, I'm afraid a baby might be the last straw.  Especially under these circumstances."

"You're going to have a baby?"  Tensing, I looked over my shoulder into two pairs of astounded eyes.  "You're pregnant?" Phillip accused again, while Jamie continued to stare open-mouthed.  I silently chastised myself for letting down my guard; I'd never heard them come down the stairs.

I slowly turned around.  There was nothing to do now but come even cleaner.  "Yeah, fellas, I am.  The baby is due in March."  I smiled weakly at Jamie.  "I guess you're both going to get the chance to be big brothers now."

He frowned and looked down at the floor.  My cheeks flushing, I rambled on, hardly knowing what I was saying.  "I know this might not be the news you were expecting at the moment, but I hope, in time, you guys can be happy as happy about it as . . . well, as I am." 

Phillip let out a put-upon groan.  "Yeah, whatever."  Snatching his books from the kitchen counter, he grabbed Jamie's arm.  "Come on, worm brain.  You can walk with me as far as the bus stop."

"Your breakfast . . ."

They didn't hear their grandmother; they had already fled the room.  I winced as the front door slammed closed.  Phillip never let his younger brother walk to the high school bus stop with him these days—he considered it bad for his "image."  Evidently I'd now managed to upset both my sons.

I turned to Mother with a sarcastic little laugh.  "Well, that certainly went well." 

She gathered up the untouched plates and dumped the now-cold breakfast into the sink.  "You know what I think," she said, her voice tight.  "You should have told them weeks ago.  All these secrets have to stop, Amanda."

I stared at her through half-lidded eyes.  "Come on, Mother, be honest.  It's not only the boys you think I should have told weeks ago."

She stood up straighter, her hands on her hips as she faced me.  "No, it's not."

The accusation in her eyes looked too much like what I saw in my mirror every morning.  "You don't understand," I began, not sure which of us I was trying to convince.  "The Agency—"

Mother held up her hand.  "I've heard more than enough about that Agency of yours to last a lifetime.  Stop using it as an excuse.  You should have told Lee that he was going to be a father.  Before he left to do whatever it is the two of you seemed to think was so damned important."

"I couldn't."  I bit down hard on my lower lip.  "Other lives depended on him."

"What about your life—and the life of this child you're carrying?  Don't they count for anything?"  Mother tapped her foot hard on the tile floor.  "It was his decision to make, Amanda, not yours.  How do you think he's going to feel when he finds out you took that choice away from him?"

"He'll understand."  At least, I hoped he would.  If only he hadn't left so abruptly that morning . . . no, that wasn't fair.  This wasn't Lee's fault.  I'd had plenty of chances to tell him.

Mother frowned as she returned to her chores.  I didn't know how to explain my actions to her, how to make her understand.  She was one of the fortunate ones who could still think in black and white terms.  With any luck, it would continue to be that way, and the shadowy world of the Agency would forever remain a mystery to her.  In a way, I envied her that; envied her the innocence the dark, impenetrable eyes of men like Addi Birol had stolen from me. 

I shivered as another flashback threatened.  Remembering Pfaff's advice, I fixed my gaze on a familiar object, slowly reciting my mantra until the feeling passed.   I was dimly aware of the ringing telephone, but I couldn't answer it.  I was too busy concentrating on staying in the here and now.  Amazingly, after a few minutes, the swirling panic receded.  Pfaff's exercise was working . . .

"Amanda."  There was a sharp pressure on my arm.  Mother stood beside me, the telephone receiver dangling from her hand.  "That was Mr. Melrose.  He needs to see you right away, darling."  Instinctively, she slipped an arm around my waist to steady me.  "He said to tell you they've found Francine."


	22. Part V Chapter 21

Thursday, October 1, 1987

3:00 p.m.

The elevator doors swished open, and I forced myself to step out onto level six.  My brief stay in the Agency clinic had taught me the routine.  Three o'clock signaled change of shift for most personnel. 

Unfortunately, the agent on hall duty was still waiting for his relief.  Henderson could barely suppress a snicker as I passed him.  I understood.  Three trips down here today, and I had yet to actually make it through the door to room six-twelve. 

I was simply too scared to face Francine.  Billy had granted me access to the written transcripts of her debriefing, but had declared the recorded tapes off limits.  He was adamant; no amount of persuasion would change his mind.  Still, even without hearing the emotion behind her spoken words, I could readily imagine her feelings.  No doubt I was the last person on earth she wanted to see. 

Who could blame her?  Everything that had happened to her could be laid directly at my door.  Not only had I abused my partner's security code, but also the hand of friendship she'd extended by entrusting it to me.  I wouldn't have blamed her for encouraging the Agency to throw the book at me.

But, instead, she'd accepted full blame for the unsanctioned investigation.  I could scarcely believe my eyes as I read the report.  This was definitely not the Francine Desmond I knew.  There had to be some plan, some hidden agenda that I couldn't fathom.  Whatever the reason, I couldn't wait any longer to find out.

I took a deep breath, knocking briefly before entering the room.  Francine was asleep, or so I thought at first.  Eyes closed, she lay on her side, her knees drawn up tightly to her body.  Though her chest rose and fell in a peaceful rhythm, her pale complexion and tangled blonde hair told a different story.  She looked more like an unkempt child than the sophisticated woman I'd met on that long-ago day when Lee had first brought me to the Agency.  Reluctant to disturb her, I began to tiptoe from the room.

A quiet voice spoke from beneath the bedcovers.  "Hello, Amanda."

"Francine."  I rasped her name, gripping my beribboned picnic basket even tighter as I turned toward the bed.  "How did you—"

"Your perfume.  L'Etoile Nuit, isn't it?  Lee always loved it."

I responded with a short "Oh," not quite sure how to take her remark.  How typical of Francine to imply that Lee had somehow branded me with his favorite scent.  Yet, at the same time, there was something decidedly pathetic about the half-hearted attempt at a dig.  Her heart clearly wasn't in it.

I forced myself to speak, my words coming rapidly as I tried to assemble my thoughts.  "I didn't mean wake you, I'm sure you must need your rest.  I really should come back another day, when you aren't quite so tired . . ."

Francine pushed herself into a sitting position, silencing my nervous ramble with a roll of her eyes.  "I was wondering when you'd finally get around to visiting me."  She reclined on the pillow and pulled the covers up around her.  "What's in the basket?"

"I, uh, brought you some homemade muffins." 

"Thanks."  She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.  "You can come a little closer, you know.  I'm not the Big Bad Wolf.  I won't bite, I promise."

"Very funny, Francine." 

But my relief at her sarcasm was short-lived; Francine's sneer melted into a frown.  "I expected to see you here days ago," she said, her words sounding as if the air had been sucked out of them.  "We were partners, after all."

"Oh, Francine . . ."  I hardly knew what to say.  "I should have come as soon as Billy cleared you for visitors.  I meant to, but I just couldn't . . ." I swallowed hard then continued.  "To be honest, I couldn't bring myself to face you.  Not after everything that went down."

She dismissed my apology with a curt, "It's okay."  As I shifted my feet, her expression grew solemn.  "I understand, Amanda," she said, her tone carefully modulated this time.  "I don't blame you for starting that search for Lee, if that's what you're worried about."

"That's kind of you, but . . ."  I looked away.  "I blame me.  If I hadn't broken the rules, you wouldn't have been dragged into the middle of all of this."

She laughed under her breath.  "Yes, who'd have thought Arlington's favorite housewife would flagrantly disregard a half-dozen of the Agency's hard-and-fast regulations?  I'm impressed, Amanda.  I didn't know you had it in you."

She was obviously much more upset than she let on.  I started to apologize again, but suddenly the blood drained from my face and the room began to spin.  Blindly, I reached for the back of the chair, holding on tightly until the feeling passed. 

"Are you all right?" Francine called out in concern.  

I nodded weakly as I came around the chair and sank down.  "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Look," she tried again, "it really is okay.  I would have done the same thing in your shoes.  I know you only did what you had to do to find your husband."

My heart quickened.  "My husband?" 

"Yes.  He told me, Amanda.  Everything."

I clutched my throat, my fingers twisting the gold chain I wore around my neck, the chain that held our wedding rings.  "Is he . . . is he okay?" I whispered, drawing peculiar strength from the tickle of the gold bands between my breasts.

"He's fine."  Her gaze drifted away.  "Or he was, the last time I saw him."

"Then why didn't he come out with you?  Why is he still undercover?"

It was Francine's turn to look guilty.  Smoothing the standard-issue hospital blanket, she said in a low voice, "He couldn't get us both out.  Not without compromising his cover.  He stayed to . . . to make sure there was no hitch in the escape plan.  Slipping out of Beirut without a passport is no easy feat, believe me."  

Beirut.  A cold chill swept through me.  I'd read it in the file, of course, but hearing Francine confirm it pierced my heart.  My husband was in Beirut, a world away from me, in danger.  And there was nothing I could do to help him.

I felt the tentative touch of her hand on my arm.  "He'll make it out, too, Amanda.  You have to trust that.  He asked me to tell you . . ."

"What?" I choked out when she hesitated.

"That he has the best reason in the world to keep his promise."

I nodded and asked in a thickening voice, "Why did you cover for me?  With the Agency, I mean.  There are bound to be repercussions and, well, I know how much your career means to you."

"At this point, my career is the least of my worries."  Francine shoved an unruly strand of hair from her face.  "Look, if you must know, I did it for Lee."

"Lee asked you to lie for me?"

"Lee asked me to look out for you.  As a special favor to him."

"I see."

"I'm not sure you do.  He saved my life, Amanda.  More than my life.  He saved my sanity.  If he hadn't shown up when he did . . . well, I don't know what might have happened to me."

She couldn't hide the tears in her eyes.  "Are you okay, Francine?" I asked.  "Really?"

"As okay as I'm expected to be."  She shrugged.  "I try not to think about it, but it's . . . hard.  Sometimes . . ."

"The voices," I said, as she faltered.  "It's the voices that drive me crazy.  Sometimes I still hear them in my head . . . hear him.  Addi Birol."

"Tell me it gets better."  Francine struggled to keep her voice even. 

"It does.  Time helps.  Puts it into some sort of perspective, I guess.  So do friends—if you let them."

"Effrom came to see me the other day.  He was trying so hard to be cheerful, but I couldn't lie here and talk about inconsequential things . . . the score of the Redskins game or the new line from Dior.  It didn't make sense to me anymore, you know?"

"Yeah, I know.  But it won't always be that way, I promise.  Talk to Pfaff.  The man might have a few quirks, but he does know his stuff.  He's helped me keep what happened with Birol in the past, where it belongs."

"Amanda."  Francine's voice grew so soft I had to strain to hear here.  "When Birol had you, did he . . . hurt you . . . physically, I mean?"

"Are you asking if he—"  She nodded sharply.  "No.  He never touched me, not like . . . that.  Lee got there in time.  Did the man who had you—"

"Karras.  His name was Karras."

I squeezed her shoulder.  "Did he . . ."

She shook her head.  "Lee got there in time for me, too.  He convinced them to let him take over my 'interrogation.'  But the image was always there in my mind, an unspoken threat.  Lee and I . . . he . . . we had to pretend we were . . ."

"It's okay, Francine."  I licked my lips, struggling to banish the image of Birol's cold eyes.  "I understand."  And, oddly enough, I did.  One good thing had come from all this—I was more secure than ever about my place in Lee's heart.  I could afford to share him with Francine.

"Karras is a disgusting pig."  Francine cried out with sudden vehemence.  "I hope Lee puts a bullet right between his filthy eyes.  Even that would be better than he deserves."

I tried to reassure her, but couldn't find the words.  The few days I'd been forced to endure Birol's veiled threats of physical violation had seemed like a lifetime; I couldn't begin to imagine what it had been like for Francine to suffer such fear for weeks on end.  It was every female agent's worst nightmare.

The room suddenly felt very warm, and I wiped a few beads of perspiration from my forehead.  These darn fluctuating hormones, I thought as I took off my jacket and hung it on the back of the chair.  Cold one minute, hot the next—there didn't seem to be any happy medium. I turned back to Francine, but the damage was already done.  I could tell by her shocked expression that she'd noticed.

"How far along are you?" she demanded gently, her blue eyes growing wider as she took in the subtle curve of my once flat stomach. 

There was no use trying to hide it now.  "Three and a half months."

"Three and a half months! Lee didn't say anything about you being . . . Amanda . . ."  Understanding dawned.  "Lee doesn't know about this, does he?  You didn't tell him."

"No.  I . . . well, it's complicated, that's all."

"He would never have left you if he'd known," Francine said, putting two and two together.  "Oh, Amanda!"

Her exclamation brought hot tears to my eyes again.  She sounded so much like Lee . . .  "It'll all work out," I told her, as much for my own benefit as hers.  "Lee will get these guys and come home.  I know he will."

She stretched out her hand to me with no hesitation this time.  "You can count on that.  Now," she met my gaze with a cheerful smile, "about that basket you brought me.  Those muffins had better be chocolate chip."

"Chocolate-chocolate chip," I assured her. 

Her grin widened as she squeezed my arm.  "Then what on earth are we waiting for?"


	23. Part V Chapter 22

Friday, October 30, 1987

2:35 p.m.

"Well, if you ask me, she should have known what she was letting herself in for.  The man's reputation was legendary.  Ask anyone in the steno pool."

"Oh, come on, cut her some slack.  I certainly wouldn't put Mrs. King in the same class with the steno pool."

I sucked in a breath and shifted the folders to my left arm.  I'd been about to enter the break room when their voices stopped me.  Common sense told me to walk away, but some perverse curiosity rooted me in place.

"That didn't seem to make much difference to Scarecrow.  Still, I suppose he was worth it.  The man's absolutely delicious."

"But to leave her to raise a baby all by herself . . ."  Someone sighed.  "I never pegged Scarecrow as a man who'd run out on his own child.  It's not his style."

"Do you think that's why he transferred to the London office so suddenly?"  The question was accompanied by a low, throaty chuckle.  "Maybe the baby wasn't his."

I couldn't decide if I should laugh or cry.  Though gossip had been rampant at the Agency since my condition had become apparent, I'd never heard it taken to quite this level before.  Squelching the urge to flee, I squared my shoulders and pushed through the door.

The conversation stopped abruptly. 

"Oh, uh, hi, Mrs. King," the petite blonde muttered, almost apologetically.  It was Carla from accounting, the administrator who'd helped me sort through the mix-up over the King Cobra paycheck the previous year.  She'd told me at the time how much she admired the way I'd handled the threat on my life. 

At least she had the good grace now to pretend to be embarrassed over her remarks.  Her cohort, on the other hand, shot me a condescending smile.  I should have known that saccharine voice belonged to Judy Jerome.  We'd been in the same freshman agent class, and she'd always been jealous of what she termed my "preferential" status.  Evidently her plum assignment to European Operations had done little to quell the green-eyed monster.

"Can I get you a cup of coffee, Mrs. King?" she asked, feigning innocence.  "Oh, that's right, I forgot.  You probably can't drink coffee in your condition, can you?"

The door to the break room slammed shut behind me.   "I believe they're waiting for you on level eight, Judy," Francine said, her angry voice filling the small room.  She planted her hands on her hips as she shot Judy a glance that would have withered the bravest heart.  "Thompson is looking everywhere for you."

The rookie swallowed hard as she struggled to avoid the senior agent's blazing eyes.  "Yeah, sure.  I was just on my way over there."

"Then I suggest you get moving.  You, too, Carla.  I'm sure you have some numbers somewhere that need adding or subtracting."

Judy and Carla both skittered from the room.  I shook my head in amazement; Francine Desmond in "Mama Bear" mode was an awesome sight to behold.  "Are you okay?" she asked, her tone gentler as she turned her attention to me. 

"Yeah, I'm fine."  To my dismay, my voice broke.  "Sorry.  I'm usually better at handling that stuff."

Francine poured a cup of coffee.  "Judy Jerome has some nerve, talking like that.  The woman's been here a little over a year, and she's already played more backgammon games than I can count.  Ask anyone in Field Section."

I sank down on the sofa, hugging my folders to my chest.  "Backgammon?" 

"Never mind—private joke."  Steam rose from the Styrofoam cup, and she blew lightly to cool the hot liquid.  "So, how's it going with Beaman?"

"Fine, so far."  Since my pregnancy prohibited me from active field status, I'd been temporarily assigned to assist Effrom with this year's freshmen.  "At least none of the new recruits know Lee.  That's something to be grateful for, I guess."

"Amanda."  Francine sat down and placed her cup on the coffee table then did the same with the folders she pried from my hands.  "This charade is getting ridiculous.  Let me talk to Billy."

"What point would that serve?  You know as well as I do how important it is to maintain the status quo."

"But at the very least you should be able to come clean here at the Agency, put an end to all this insane speculation once and for all."

"Dr. Smyth would never go for it.  'Need to know,' remember?"  She shook her head.  "I can deal with the office gossip.  It'll end soon enough once Lee comes home.  And if there's even the slightest chance that Arbaalk could target Mother and the boys . . ."  Amanda shivered.  "Besides, what's the alternative?  Being stashed in some safe house for the duration?  I don't think so.  At least here I can pretend I'm making a difference."

Francine closed her eyes and let out a short breath.  "I'm sorry you have to go through all this alone."

"I'm not alone.  I've got my family to support me.  And friends like you."

She returned my smile.  "Flattery won't cut it.  I still have no intention of telling you my code name."

"Darn," I laughed, "you found me out."

"Look, Amanda . . ."  She crossed her legs and inclined her body toward me.  "All joking aside, I'm glad you think of me as a friend.  If there's anything I can do to help you right now, all you have to do is ask."

"Thanks.  It does help that there's somebody who knows the truth, somebody besides my family.  Mother means well, but it's hard to explain this crazy job to her.  Sometimes . . ."

"I know what you mean.  My mother has never understood why I felt so driven to succeed in what she always termed a 'man's' profession.  I'm not sure she ever will."  She let out a tired sigh.  "It's hard, you know, juggling your professional and personal life without having it all come crashing down around you."

I cocked my head.  "Are you talking about my problems here or yours?"

"Both, I guess.  Lee really does feel awful about what happened.  The game he was forced to play . . ."

"You don't have to defend him, Francine."   My voice sounded brittle, and I struggled to add some warmth.  "I understand why he did it.  I just wish . . . well, I wish a lot of things, but mostly that you hadn't ended up in the middle this . . . mess.  If I hadn't tapped into the offline network to look for Lee—"

"That's only supposition.  There's never been any real proof that what you did sent them after me.  Remember, there were no formal charges filed."

"Maybe not, but thanks to me you've got a letter of reprimand in your file.  You should have let me come forward."

"To what end?  With my record, one derogatory letter from Dr. Smyth isn't going to matter much, one way or the other."  She fixed her eyes on a spot on the wall.  "Besides, the other powers that be were inclined to be lenient."  

I patted her arm, noting with relief that she didn't pull away.  "Effrom was asking about you again this morning.  He's worried."

"Who'd have thought Effrom would turn out to be such a decent guy?"  Her lips curled into an ironic smile.

"Effrom is a decent guy.  Maybe you should give him a chance."

"Maybe I should at that."  She shook her head, sending her hair flying.  "Wait a minute—did I just agree to date Effrom Beaman?" 

I grinned.  "I think you did."

Francine rolled her eyes.  "Well, Pfaff's diagnosis must be right on.  I am definitely showing symptoms of post traumatic shock."

My smile faded.  "Are you still having flashbacks?"

She shrugged.  "Some days are worse than others.  You?"

"Sometimes."  I let out a long, audible breath.  "Take it one day at a time.  That's my motto these days."

The muscles of her forearms hardened as she gripped the edge of the sofa.  "I guess there's no timetable for this kind of thing, is there?"

"No, there isn't." 

I'd realized lately that recovery followed the beat of its own drummer.  Last year I'd cut short my sessions with Pfaff, arbitrarily deciding it was time to get on with my life.  I'd been so caught up in my blossoming relationship with Lee that I'd naively assumed that bond alone could put any residual demons to rest.  Only now, after talking with Pfaff on a regular basis, did I realize how far I still had to go to truly put the past where it belonged.

As Francine cleared her throat, I realized I'd drifted off.  "Sorry, you were saying?"

"I was saying that I'd better get back up to the Q-Bureau.  There's a stack of paperwork growing on my desk." 

Billy had assigned her to my old spot in the "Q," with the caveat that Lee would take over as her partner upon his return.  His decision hadn't surprised me; Dr. Smyth's regulations strictly precluded family members from working in the same department. 

Francine stood, interlocking her fingers and stretching her arms.  "It's a good thing Anderson's assignment up there is only temporary.  The concept of a filing cabinet is totally lost on him."

We shared a laugh as I followed her out the door.  "I hate to tell you this, but Lee suffers from the same disability."

Francine groaned.  "It must be a male thing.  If he expects me to clean up after him once he gets back, he'd better think again."

I couldn't help but grin.  If Francine thought she could change Scarecrow's habits, I had a sneaking suspicion she would be the one thinking again. 

We headed in the direction of Beaman's office and were about to part company when the man himself suddenly appeared, wearing a deep frown.  "There you are, Amanda.  I've been looking everywhere for you."

Francine immediately stepped between us.  "She was on a break, Effrom.  It's allowed, you know."

"I should have told you where I was going," I said as my supervisor's face fell.  I knew the feeling.  Francine's behavior was oddly reminiscent of Lee's in our early days together—reaching out one minute only to pull back the next.  "I'll have my preliminary grades on your desk in ten minutes," I assured him.  

He tore his eyes from Francine with an effort.  "That's not the reason I was looking for you, Amanda.  Mrs. Dennis from Arlington Middle School called for you.  You need to get over there right away.  There's a problem with your son."

"Is Jamie okay?"  I tried not to panic as visions of exploding cars filled my mind.  "It's not Agency related . . ."

"No, not at all."   Beaman rested a strong hand on my arm.  "Your son is fine, but—"

"But what?"  Obviously Francine was unable to resist the urge to come to my rescue again.  "If the boy's not hurt—"

He scowled at her.  "Apparently there's been some sort of incident at the school.  Mrs. Dennis didn't go into details, but the police are involved.  She tried to get in touch with your ex-husband, Amanda, but he was in a meeting and couldn't be disturbed."

"Great."  I gritted my teeth as I handed Beaman my stack of files.  I could always trust Joe to be unreachable whenever trouble knocked on the door.  "I'd better get over there."

"Do you want me to go with you?" Francine offered.

"Thanks, but I'd better handle this alone."  I grimaced as I conjured up a number of scenarios involving Jamie and the police.  With the way he'd been behaving lately, anything was possible.  "If I have to kill him, it'll be better if there aren't any witnesses."


	24. Part V Chapter 23

Friday, October 30, 1987

9:05 p.m.

"So, what did Jamie have to say for himself?" Mother asked as she handed me another dish. 

"Not much."  I studied the pattern on the plate as I wiped it dry.  "I told him we'd discuss it tonight.  I was just too angry to deal with him this afternoon."

"Since Mrs. Dennis suspended him for three days, I suppose you'll have plenty of time."  Mother scrunched her forehead.  "Honestly, what was the boy thinking, tossing bricks at the school windows like that?"

"Supposedly that part was Tommy Lipman's idea.  Jamie only intended to soap them."

"I thought Tommy Lipman was Phillip's friend."  She handed me the serving bowl, adding with a frown, "Aren't they in the same grade?"

"They were, but Tommy was held back a year, so he's still at the Middle School."

"That Lipman boy is trouble, Amanda, I've always said so.  And those parents of his . . . Well, all I can say is, I've never believed Frank Lipman only imports olive oil for a living, if you follow my drift."

I rolled my eyes.  "Mother, the Lipmans are very nice people—"

"Whose son happens to be a juvenile delinquent in training," she finished, with a pointed shake of her head.

"Yeah, well, apparently so is mine."  I folded the dishcloth and placed it on the kitchen table.  "I suppose this can't be put off any longer.  I'd better go have a talk with him."

"If I were you, I'd ground him for at least a month.  You've got to nip this kind of thing in the bud, Amanda, and . . ." 

Her concern turned to alarm as I abruptly grabbed my stomach.  "Is everything all right?" she demanded, rushing to my side.  "Is it the baby?"

"Yes," I whispered through gathering tears.

"Stand right there.  I'll call the doctor."

Her distress snapped me out of my trance.  "No, Mother, it's not that . . ."  I gripped her arm.  "Well, it is, but not the way you think.  The baby, it . . . it kicked."

"Oh, Amanda!  Where . . ."

"Right here," I said, placing her hand on the left side of my swollen stomach.  "Do you feel it?"

"Yes, sweetheart."  Her voice sounded watery.  "It's wonderful."

I nodded, unable to reply.  I'd felt soft "flutterings" before, but this kick, tangible and real, was absolutely unmistakable.  It was almost as if Lee had sent me a message.  "Oh, Mother . . ." 

She slipped her arm around my shoulder.  "He'll be home soon, darling.  And then—"

"And then he's going to kill me for not telling him about the baby.  You were so right.  I should never have made this decision for him."

Mother hugged me lightly.  "What's done is done, Amanda, so there's no use worrying about what you can't change.  Better to concentrate on changing what you can."

I glanced toward the stairs.  "Like Jamie."

"Like Jamie.  Now, stop all this procrastinating and go talk to your son." 

I gave her a grateful smile then climbed the stairs, my mood considerably mellower.  Mother was right.  Lee would be home soon, and then these problems—the snide, hurtful remarks, Jamie's outrageous behavior, the long nights alone in our bed—would all be a thing of the past.  In the meantime, I'd just have to deal with the home front as best I could.

Starting with the boys.  I could hear their angry voices even before I reached the end of the hall.  I was just gearing up to put an end to the disagreement when Jamie's words brought me up short. 

"But it was way embarrassing.  And with Tommy Lipman's big mouth, it's going to be all over school in no time."

"Well, what did you expect, Bozo?" Phillip chimed in.  "Did you think Mrs. Dennis wouldn't call her?"

There was a pregnant pause as we both waited for the answer.  "I asked her to call Dad, not Mom.  Why'd she have to come?"

"If she hadn't come, you might have had to spend the night in juvenile detention." 

"Yeah, well, that might have been better than what happened."  The springs creaked loudly, the way they did whenever Jamie flopped down hard on the bed.  "I'm never gonna be able to show my face at school again now that everyone knows she's pregnant."

I bit down hard on my lower lip.  I'd thought Jamie was upset over the brick-throwing incident, but that wasn't the case at all—at least, not in the way I'd imagined.  My son wasn't ashamed to face me; he was ashamed of me.

At least Phillip had the consideration to come to my defense.  "Oh, don't be so dramatic," he told his brother.  "It's not the end of the world."

"Yeah, but it's so . . . gross.  I mean, at her age . . ."  Jamie groaned then added in a familiarly stubborn voice, "I just don't see how she could do that."

Phillip laughed.  "It's not like she hasn't done it before.  How do you think we got here, dog breath?  God, you're such a baby sometimes."

"You think you're so grown up just because you've got a girlfriend," he spat out angrily.  "If you're so okay about everything, then why didn't you invite Mom to Linda's house before the dance, huh?  All the other parents were there to take pictures."

"She'd just gone back to work," Phillip responded after a beat, an odd tightness in his voice.  "She was tired.  That's why I asked Dad and Carrie instead."

I tightened my grip on the doorknob.  Phillip had taken his current heartthrob, Linda Montez, to the Homecoming dance, but this was the first I'd heard about any party at her house.  A party Carrie had evidently attended in my place . . . 

Jamie sniggered.  "You can't snow me, Phillip.  I'm not Dad, you know, or Grandma, either.  I totally get how you feel."

My sigh sounded remarkably like steam from a kettle that was about to blow.  First those catty women at the Agency, and now my own sons . . . it was definitely too much for one day. 

I pushed through the door without knocking.  Jamie sat Indian-style on his bed, his glasses askew, while Phillip sprawled on the floor, his legs stretched out on front of him as he leaned against the dresser.  Folding my arms across my chest, I looked down into their surprised faces.  "Okay," I said, struggling to hold onto what was left of my temper.  "We need to have a little talk."

"Um, sure, Mom."  Phillip's discomfiture was readily apparent as he scrambled up.  "I'll just leave you guys alone."

"Stay here, please, Phillip," I ordered before he could bolt for the door.  "What I have to say concerns you as well as Jamie."

Swallowing hard, he sat down on the edge of his bed, fixing his gaze on the Star Wars poster hanging on the wall.  Jamie appeared equally unnerved; his lower lip trembled slightly as he picked at a loose thread on the edge of his blanket.  They were obviously worried about what I might have overheard. 

Watching them squirm, I felt my fierce flash of anger burn itself out.  They both seemed so young and vulnerable; it made my heart ache just to look at them.  I longed to turn back the clock to a simpler time, when all it took was a big hug to make their world okay again.

But they weren't my little boys any more.  In the blink of an eye they'd changed into young men.  Were they old enough to understand that adults didn't have all the answers?  That even the strongest, wisest, most capable of us were as prone to mistakes as they were?  That sometimes, despite our best intentions, we hurt the very people we loved the most? 

I let out a sigh.  Of course they weren't.  That was something I was only beginning to grasp myself. 

"Listen, fellas."  My voice shook as I sat beside Jamie.  "I know there are a lot of changes in your lives right now and sometimes it's hard to know how to deal with all that." 

The boys exchanged a put upon glance.  "I don't blame you guys for feeling confused," I forged ahead with what I hoped was an understanding smile, "Lee and I, your dad and Carrie . . . it's got to be hard sometimes to figure out where we all fit into your lives.  But the bottom line is, we're all your family, and we only want what's best for the two of you."

Their silence continued; I tried a different tack.  "Look, guys, I know you're angry about the way Lee and I lied to you—"

"We're not angry," Phillip said.  "Not exactly.  We're just . . ."  He shrugged and dug his foot into the carpet.

I looked into his clear blue eyes then into Jamie's darker ones.  "Yes, you are.  And it's okay to feel that way.  I'd be mad, too, if I were in your shoes."

Jamie cocked his head.  "You would?"

"Yes, Jamie, I would.  I may not have set out to hurt you guys, but that's exactly what happened, and for that I really am sorry." 

"It's okay."  Phillip jabbed his finger through a worn spot on the comforter.  I'd been meaning to replace that old quilt but somehow hadn't been able to find the time.  "We understand why you did it and all," he continued, a funny, quivering sound in his voice.  "You took an oath."

"That doesn't make what I did okay."  Suddenly I was back in the Q-Bureau, listening to Lee tell me that he wanted to end our marriage.  "A lie is a lie, sweetheart, even if it's done for the best reason in the world."

They nodded, still not looking directly at me, and I let out a sigh.  "Maybe it's time for you guys to be really honest with me.  I know you're not thrilled that I'm pregnant, and I'm sorry about that.  But, like it or not, this baby is going to be your brother or sister, and you're going to have to find a way to deal with that." 

An uneasy silence settled over the room.   "We know, Mom," Phillip said at last.  "It's just that . . . well, sometimes . . ."

"I know.  The timing isn't the best.  But we don't get to pick and choose life's moments, Phillip.  Sometimes they take you by surprise and pull you in directions you'd never planned."

"Like when you met Lee?" he asked.

"Something like that."  My tone softened.  "You know, your Dad and I didn't exactly intend to have you guys while he was still in law school, but that didn't make us love either of you any less.  Or make us any less happy about what had happened, however unexpected."

"I guess.  But at least people knew you guys were married."  Phillip narrowed his eyes as he brought his gaze level with mine. "If lying is so wrong, like you've been telling us, how come we can't tell everyone the truth about you and Lee?"

I drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out again.  "Because the job Lee's doing right now is very . . . tricky.  If people knew we were married, there's a chance it could put us all in danger.  A small chance, but a chance nonetheless.  And that's a risk we can't afford to take."

"But if lying is so wrong," he insisted, "then why—"

"Phillip," I said sternly, drawing on my authority as his mother.  "You're just going to have to take my word on this.  I know I've asked a lot of you over the past few months," I included Jamie in my gaze, "both of you.  And I know it hasn't been fair.  But life isn't always fair, fellas.  Sometimes it asks more from you than you think it has a right to.  How you meet those demands determines what kind of a person you are.  Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

"Yeah."  Jamie twisted the pointed corner of the pillow between his fingers.  "You want us to pretend that everything's okay."

Puzzled, I frowned.  "Where on earth would you get an idea like that?"

Jamie raised his eyes to mine.  "Because that's exactly what you do.  You keep telling us that Lee's okay and everything is going to be just fine when you don't really know that at all.  You don't even know where he is, do you?"

"Not exactly, but—"

"Yeah, I thought so."  Jamie kicked his foot against the rung of the bed.  "You guys may be saving the world and everything, but I think your jobs really stink."

I started to explain once again about national security and "need to know," but the words died on my lips.  That was my reality, not theirs.  All they knew was that their lives had been turned upside down by something outside their control.  They were only children; they shouldn't be made to pay for my choices. 

I turned to them once more.  "You're right, Jamie.  Sometimes our jobs do stink.  That's one of the reasons we . . . well, that doesn't matter now.  What does matter is what you guys are going through.  We need to talk about your feelings—even the one's that aren't so pretty.  Otherwise, you're going to end up chucking more bricks through another school window."

"I guess.  It's just that . . ."  Jamie shrugged. 

"That what, sweetheart?  Is there something you want to tell me?"

"Maybe," he answered, in a low voice.  "We've been talking to Dad, and—"

"Shut up, worm brain!"  Phillip's anger burst through his voice.  "We said we weren't going to—"

"You said," Jamie shouted, just as hotly, "not me!"

"Okay, okay, neutral corners, both of you.  Phillip, your brother has something to say—let him say it.  Go on, Jamie," I prodded, giving him my full attention.

"Well," he began, ignoring Phillip's glare, "when we were at Dad's last weekend, he kind of mentioned something about us moving in with him."

I turned to my unusually silent older son.  "Is this true, Phillip?"

"Yeah," he admitted reluctantly.  "But only if you thought it was okay."

"I see."  My jaw clenched.  How noble of Joe—he only wanted to take my sons away from me if I was "okay" with it.  "And what did you guys tell him?"

"We told him we didn't know," Phillip put in quickly. "I mean, we love Dad and all that, but . . ."

I nodded.  "Is that how you feel, too, Jamie?"

His foot kicked the bedrail harder this time.  "Sometimes I think it might be okay.  I don't know."

"Okay," I said as calmly as I could, "that's fair.  You don't have to make a decision right now.  Maybe we should all just think about this for a while."

Phillip looked at me with wide eyes.  "Do you want us to live with Dad?"

"No, Phillip I don't.  I love you guys, and I'd miss you, more than I can say.  But I won't tell you what to do.  You're old enough to make this decision on your own.  Whatever you decide, I guess I'll have to learn to accept it, just the way I expect you guys to accept the decisions I've made."  I took a deep breath and stood up.  "I think we've done enough talking for one night.  You both need to get some sleep.  Tomorrow's a busy day."

I started for the door, but Jamie's voice called me back.  "I love you, Mom," he cried, choking down a sob. 

I blinked back my tears.  "I know you do.  And I love you, too.  Both of you."  I opened my arms and kissed each head in turn as they stepped into my embrace.  "I'm so sorry, guys.  I wish I could change what's happened and the way it's happened, but I can't.  And I can't take back the lies.  What I can do is promise that, from now on, I'll be honest with you.  I hope you'll do the same." 

Jamie gulped and nodded, while Phillip replied quietly, "Okay."

"Good."  I gave them my best imitation of a smile.  "Now, get to bed.  And don't forget to brush your teeth."

They mumbled their goodnights as I closed the door, but I was too numb to reply.  Somehow, I managed to reach my room and collapse on the bed.  I fought to stifle the sob that forced its way out of my throat, but it was no use.  Using the pillow to muffle my cries, I finally let out the tears that had been threatening all day. 

Damn Joe King anyway!  How dare he speak to the boys about moving in with him without even discussing it with me!  Here he was again, making unilateral decisions about my life.  First, he arbitrarily decided to withhold Lee's letter; now he wanted to steal my children. 

I choked down another cry.  Of course, if Lee had come to me with the truth in the first place, Joe would never have been put in such an untenable position.  Damn him and his stupid Agency code.  Expediency, my foot!  And damn every bureaucrat who'd ever sat in their sterile offices, penning rules and regulations that destroyed innocent people's lives.  If I could get my hands on the lot of them right now, I'd happily wring all their necks!

The phone rang.  I grabbed it and bellowed, "Hello!"

It was Mr. Melrose.  "Uh, hello, Amanda," he said, a strange accent in his voice.  "I hope I'm not intruding."

I ground my teeth, wishing I'd had the sense to let Mother pick up.  "I'm sorry, sir, I guess you kind of caught me at a bad time."

"I'm sorry, too.  But I need to talk to you.  It can't wait."

I wondered what else could possibly go wrong tonight.  "Is there a problem at the Agency, sir?" I asked, hoping I was wrong. 

He dodged the question with an ambiguous, "Yes and no."

"I suppose I could come in if you need me to," I offered, secretly hoping he wouldn't take me up on it.

"That won't be necessary."  He paused again.  "Crumwald called me tonight from London.  There's been a . . . development . . . regarding Lee's case.  I wasn't sure if I should tell you this, but I did promise to keep you informed.  If I were in your shoes, I'd want to know."

"Know what, sir?"  The baby kicked inside me again, alive and strong. 

"Amanda," Billy said as gently as he could, "it's Lee.  He's missed his last three check-ins."


	25. Part V Chapter 24

Thursday, November 26, 1987

11:08 a.m.

"Amanda, you've been on your feet all morning. Sit down before you fall down."

Evading Mother's pointed stare, I dumped an assortment of jeans and t-shirts into the washing machine. "I don't have time to sit down. I've got to finish the laundry so the boys have something clean to wear. In case you've forgotten, we're expecting a houseful of guests for Thanksgiving dinner in a few hours."

"Of course I haven't forgotten." She glared at me over the top of her glasses. "I'm the one who's been up since the crack of dawn wrestling with that twenty-four pound turkey."

I added a cup of detergent to the wash water. When Mother took that tone, it usually meant a lecture was forthcoming. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realized I more than deserved one; I'd been spoiling for a fight all morning.

Mother didn't let me down. "You know, Amanda," she started in right on cue, "why you volunteered to host this party today, I'll never know. Especially after that stunt Joe pulled last month."

"That's exactly why I'm having them over. To prove to the boys I'm not mad at Joe. The last thing they need right now is to feel that they're in a tug of war with their parents."

"Too bad Joe didn't consider that before he opened his big mouth. I don't fault your logic, Amanda, just your methods. They're Carrie's family. She should do it."

I dropped the lid and yanked the knob to the "on" position. "I'd rather meet them here on my own turf. Besides, Carrie has her hands full with the wedding on Saturday."

"Yes, I'm perfectly aware of that, too."

I groaned. "I think I hear a 'but' coming in there somewhere."

"No, not at all." She took the empty basket from my hands and placed it under the laundry tub. "I certainly have no intention of telling you how to run your life. You know it's not my way. If you want to pretend we're all one, big happy family and attend your ex-husband's wedding, you go right ahead. I won't even say 'I told you so' after you collapse from the stress."

"I feel fine, Mother. Okay, so I'm a little tired," my protest was all but swallowed up in a yawn, "and maybe I am a little on the thin side, but Dr. Goodman said the baby and I are perfectly healthy and—"

"I know what Dr. Goodman said." Mother adopted a pricklier tone. "I was present at your last appointment. You remember . . . the one where he specifically ordered you to slow down?"

"I'll slow down as soon as Lee comes home." The words came out more harshly than I'd intended. Ignoring the look on my mother's face, I pushed past her into the kitchen without a word.

A pile of leftover breakfast dishes greeted me. Scowling, I rolled up my sleeves, turned the water on full-blast and squirted a generous stream of Palmolive into the sink. The bubbles immediately began to swirl, overflowing the basin to drip down the cabinet onto the floor.

"Damn it, where is Phillip, anyway?" Grabbing the nearest dish towel, I squatted down and dabbed awkwardly at the small puddles. "The breakfast dishes are supposed to be his job this week."

Firm hands grabbed me under the arm and tugged me to my feet. Mother calmly shut off the water I'd left running then ordered, in a tone that brooked no contradiction, "Sit down, Amanda. Right now."

Too exhausted to argue, I plodded to the kitchen table and lowered myself into a chair. "Phillip really should be doing that," I ventured in a small voice as she began to mop the wet floor.

"Phillip is still on the upstairs phone talking to Linda." Mother pursed her lips in disapproval, whether over Phillip's behavior or mine, I wasn't quite sure.

"I guess I'm going to have to talk to him about how much time he's spending with that girl." I licked my fingertip and jabbed at the toast crumbs scattered across the tabletop. "This relationship is getting entirely too serious."

"Why not let him enjoy the first bloom of love for a little while longer? I remember how you and Bobby Johnson carried on when you were that age—talk, talk, talk, morning, noon and night. At least it's keeping his mind off . . ." Mother put more energy into her mopping. "How much trouble can they get into, anyway? They're only fourteen."

Now was probably not the time to tell her about that big backseat in Mr. Johnson's Lincoln. And my shenanigans paled in comparison to Lee and a certain general's daughter. While I felt fairly confident that Phillip's behavior was more in line with mine, he wouldn't stay innocent forever. I didn't relish having to cope with his burgeoning adolescent hormones on my own. And though I knew I could rely on Joe in a pinch, I wasn't feeling especially friendly toward him at the moment.

But I couldn't worry about that now. Thanks to my obsessive need to keep the peace, we were about to be invaded by a horde of new "relatives." Unfortunately, the adrenaline that had fueled my cleaning frenzy all morning had evaporated, leaving a bone-aching weariness in its wake. Leaning forward, I rested my elbows on the table and buried my face in my hands.

"Here, darling, drink this." Mother materialized at my side and pressed a steaming cup into my hands. "It will perk you up again in no time."

I swallowed obediently. As the hot tea warmed me, I did begin to feel more like myself again. "I'm sorry," I murmured, feeling guilty for taking my bad mood out on her. "I don't know how you put up with me."

Mother tucked my hair behind my ear, the way she used to do when I was a girl. "I know the pressure you've been under, Amanda. I don't mean to nag you. I'm just worried, that's all. About you and the baby." She patted the rounded bulge concealed beneath my sweatshirt. "I have a vested interest in this little one, you know."

"I know you do. And I really appreciate your support, even if I don't always show it."

"You're my daughter, darling, and a daughter always has a special place in her mother's heart." Her lips curved up in a secret smile. "Maybe, if you're lucky, you'll discover that for yourself."

"Maybe." I hadn't given the matter too much thought up until now. When I'd had the amnio last month, Dr. Goodman had asked if I wanted to know the baby's sex, but I'd declined. It hadn't seemed right somehow to have even more knowledge about a baby Lee knew nothing about at all. Suddenly, though, the idea of a daughter sounded kind of nice.

Mother's smile grew wider. "Of course, another boy would be okay, too."

It would be more than okay. A little boy with his father's eyes . . . nice eyes, beautiful eyes, eyes that had drawn me to him even when he'd been a total stranger . . . eyes I couldn't wait to gaze into again. I let out a quick breath. Thinking like that was treading on shaky ground.

"But none of that is important, darling." Mother made her point with a gentle squeeze of my shoulders. "It's getting that little baby here, safe and healthy, that really matters. So you have to promise to start taking better care of yourself."

"Don't worry. I'm going to be fine, Mother. As soon as . . ."

I started to say "as soon as Lee comes home," but I couldn't get the words out this time. That catchphrase had become my mantra since my husband had gone missing. I repeated it out loud each morning as I drove to the Agency, murmured it silently as I lectured on the finer points of tactical surveillance, and whispered it to the night shadows as, unable to sleep, I paced the floor of what should have been our bedroom.

But it didn't help. There was nothing magical about those words, they held no special power. They couldn't bring my husband back.

A low moan rose up out of my throat. "Oh, Mother, what am I going to do? I can't stop thinking . . . if this baby . . . and then there's Joe's nonsense about the boys . . . and if something's happened . . ."

Mother seemed to understand; she gently stroked my hair again. "Hush now. The baby is just fine, and those boys aren't going anywhere. As for Lee, you don't know for certain that something's happened to him. What does Mr. Melrose say?"

"That communication in that part of the world is difficult at best. But it's been twenty-seven days now. . ." I shook my head. Though Billy refused to actually say it, we were both professionals; we could interpret the continued silence from Beirut all too accurately.

Mother puffed out her chest and drew herself up to her full height. "Amanda Stetson, I've never seen you give up on anything you cared about before, and I won't stand for it now, do you hear? Until you know something definite, you keep on believing that your husband is coming home."

The sternly loving words were exactly what I needed to hear. Her eyes, so full of hope, seemed to impart some of their confidence to me, and I turned to her with the beginnings of a smile.

Mother nodded her approval. "Now, Missy, you head right up those stairs and change your clothes. What kind of impression will we make on Joe's new family if you greet them in those old sweats?"


	26. Part V Chapter 25

Thursday, November 26, 1987

8:36 p.m.

The noisy television made a welcome racket in the den, where the men had gathered to watch the football game. From my vantage point in the doorway, I listened to their enthusiastic cheering as the favorite team scored. As Jamie's voice rose excitedly above the others, I was overcome by the strangest feeling of jealousy. It had been a long time since the walls of this house had reverberated with so much joy.

A soft hand touched my arm, and Carrie Reynolds, soon-to-be King, smiled. "I can't thank you enough for having us all over today," she said.

"You don't have to thank me," I murmured, springing into action again. "I was happy to do it."

Carrie followed me into the dining room. "You know, Amanda, you really do look wonderful. If I didn't know differently, at first glance, I'd never guess that you were . . . well . . . you know . . ."

"Pregnant?" I said, with a tense laugh. We'd managed to avoid the subject of the baby for most of the afternoon, but it was obviously on the tip of everyone's minds. "I guess big, bulky sweaters really do come in handy."

"I'm sure your height doesn't hurt, either." She blushed, focusing on the window, the cluttered table, the kitchen door—anywhere but my stomach. She was obviously embarrassed over my "situation," as her mother had so kindly put it earlier. I found myself silently screaming. Dr. Smyth's sacrosanct "need to know" didn't extend to Carrie's family, and the Agency's Director had strictly prohibited Joe from informing even his bride-to-be. I sometimes wondered if the man was taking some kind of perverse pleasure in keeping people in the dark.

Sighing, I offered Carrie a way out of the awkwardness that had sprung up between us. "My mother always told me being tall was an advantage. I never believed her back in junior high, though, when none of the boys would dance with me."

Carrie smiled. "My mother always told me that I was lucky to be so 'petite,' but I hated it when all the boys towered over me. Joe is just the right height. I suppose that's one of the reasons I was attracted to him."

I nodded. The two of them did look good standing side-by-side, as if they fit together like pieces of a puzzle. Carrie wore her light blonde hair very short, but it framed her pixie face perfectly, and her blue eyes fairly sparkled whenever she looked at Joe. I supposed there was some significance in the fact that he'd chosen a bride who was my physical opposite, but, after spending the better part of an hour on my feet, I was too tired to ponder life's complexities at the moment.

"You know, Amanda," Carrie confided pleasantly, "Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. I'm afraid when Joe and I set our wedding date, neither one of us gave much thought to today's dinner. It was so kind of you to include the whole family in your invitation."

"It wasn't kindness, it was a pleasure." I wished she'd stop thanking me; all this gratitude was giving me a headache. "The boys certainly enjoyed playing with your nephews," I said, changing the subject.

"I'm just sorry the twins had to leave so early. All this traveling has their schedules a little out of whack and my sister a little crazy."

"I remember the feeling. I had Phillip and Jamie so close together that there were times they seemed a little like twins. In some ways it was an advantage—they played on the same little league team, they were in the same Junior Trailblazer unit. Now . . . well, since Phillip started high school, things are different."

"I was the same way with my younger sister. But now we're best friends. And I'm just nuts about those boys of hers. I really do love children."

If this admission was supposed to reassure me somehow, it had the opposite effect. Acknowledging her with a short nod, I began to clear the table.

"I think my nephews will make adorable ring bearers," she went on, her words just a little too rushed. "At first I worried that they might be too young, but I really wanted them to be a part of my special day. It's wonderful to be able to share your wedding day with family."

"Yes, it is."

Carrie's face reddened. "I'm sorry, Amanda. I guess I can't stop putting my foot in my mouth, can I?"

I managed to smile. "It's perfectly okay. You're entitled to your happiness. Joe really is a great guy. I'm happy for you both."

I set about collecting the water goblets before she could launch into another descriptive of the wedding. This little party had been my bright idea, I reminded myself; I could hardly blame Carrie if the strain of maintaining my cover was getting to me.

Mother didn't seem to be faring much better in the kitchen with Mrs. Reynolds. She'd really done an admirable job of dodging the woman's questions all afternoon, but I could tell by the prickly tone of her voice that her patience was spent.

"You have such an interesting house," Carrie's mother said as I backed through the door, my hands full. "Your dining room is so unusual. I would have never thought to paint it gray."

"Yes." Mother managed to glare at me out of the corner of her eye. "I have to give Amanda credit for that. It was all her idea."

"Decorating class," I murmured as I placed the glasses on the counter. "The teacher was British."

Mother rolled her eyes and reached for a goblet. "You don't use your dishwasher?" Mrs. Reynolds inquired as we began the tag-team wash and dry we'd just about perfected.

I felt Mother's hackles rise. "No, we don't," I put in quickly. "Not for the good crystal."

"These place settings belonged to my grandmother," Mother elaborated in a pained voice. "The gold rims are hand painted."

"They're just beautiful, Mrs. West," Carrie said from somewhere behind me. "In fact, the whole dinner was perfect. Your homemade stuffing was delicious."

Mother nodded her thanks. "It's an old family recipe, dear. The trick is to add just a touch of ground sausage. And the correct mix of seasonings, of course."

Mrs. Reynolds sniffed. "We always put oysters in the dressing. My grandmother swore by it."

"Yes, I've heard that's very good, too." Mother glanced in my direction again. As I sent her a silent plea, she raised an eyebrow and curled her lips into a plastic smile. "Would you mind taking the pie out of the oven, Mrs. Reynolds? It should be warm enough by now."

I shuddered; my mother's tone was decidedly saccharine. "I'll do it," I began, but Mrs. Reynolds wouldn't hear of it.

"Nonsense, dear," she commanded, in a tone that implied she was used to being obeyed. "Sit down and rest. You must be worn out."

Mother nodded her approval, and I gratefully took the seat Mrs. Reynolds had vacated. "I guess I am a little tired," I said, fighting a yawn.

"All this must be hard on you." Mrs. Reynolds placed the pie on the counter to cool. "Especially with your . . . boyfriend . . . away. What is it he's doing, exactly? Phillip and Jamie didn't seem able to tell me."

Her manner clearly implied her skepticism that my boyfriend existed at all. Mother appeared on the verge of telling her exactly where she could go, pointed comments and all, so I informed her as glibly as I could, "He's making a documentary film for the government. He's on location at the moment, but we expect him home soon."

Mother cleared her throat and nodded at the refrigerator. "Mrs. Reynolds, would you mind getting the whipped cream? I'm afraid my hands are full at the moment."

I let out a relieved sigh as the woman dropped the subject. Though Mother and the boys had been thoroughly briefed on what to say to Carrie's family, it was obvious that they were still on somewhat shaky ground where our cover was concerned. I couldn't help but remember Phillip's point about lying, and I wondered what kind of message I was sending my sons.

Setting those thoughts aside, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, savoring the smell of roasted turkey and pumpkin pie. It reminded me of holidays long past, and my father's deep laugh ringing through the house as he carved the big Thanksgiving bird. I could hear its echo so clearly in the sweet voices of my sons . . .

"Cut it out, worm brain, or I'm telling!"

Their bickering startled me back to reality. As the boys burst into the kitchen, Philip declared, "I'm starving. Is it time for dessert yet?"

"In a few minutes." Mother caught his hand before he could swipe some whipped cream from the bowl.

Phillip grinned and glanced in my direction, his expression boyishly hopeful. "Then can I call Linda? I have to talk to her tonight. I promised."

"You guys have been on the phone all day," Jamie said before I could answer. "It's my turn now."

"As if anyone cares if you call." Phillip stuck out his tongue as they both made a dash for the phone. "Come on, worm brain, give it to me."

"No!" Jamie hugged the earpiece to his chest. "I told Jimmy I'd call him after dinner. He wants me to come over and see his new Nintendo game. His dad got him the 'Legend of Zelda.'"

I was about to tell him that Zelda would still be a legend tomorrow when Joe intervened. "That's enough, fellas." He pried the phone from Jamie's hands. "Besides, no one is going anywhere until after dinner. We still have your grandmother's famous pumpkin pie to finish off."

Phillip shot his brother a triumphant glance, but Jamie just smiled and shrugged. "Sure, Dad," he said, with a smirk of his own. "The phone's not working anyway. Phillip must have forgotten to hang up this morning."

"Phillip King," I admonished, "how many times have I told you make sure you put the phone back on the hook when you're finished?"

"Sorry, Mom."

"Well, you can be sorry for the rest of the weekend. You just lost your phone privileges until Monday."

"Thanks a lot, worm—"

Joe's stern look silenced him. "Phillip, why don't you go hang up the extension," he suggested, calmly ending the discussion. "And Jamie, why don't you help your grandmother with the dessert plates."

"Okay."

Phillip gave his brother a parting shove as he hurried from the room. Too exhausted to reprimand him again, I rested my cheek on my palm.

Joe approached the table. "You look tired, Amanda. Those two are certainly more than enough to wear a person out."

"At times," I agreed coolly, girding myself for battle. Ever since Joe had suggested that the boys might want to live with him, even polite conversation seemed suspect.

He cleared his throat then said in a low voice, "Don't you think you were a little hard on Phillip? Leaving the phone off the hook is hardly a federal offense."

I pursed my lips and counted to ten. "Maybe I overreacted a bit, but Phillip is perfectly aware of the telephone rules in this house and the reasons for them." I let out a sigh as Joe's friendly smile turned into a frown. "I'll talk to him about reinstating his phone privileges tomorrow when I get home from work," I conceded, not wanting the conversation to turn into a debate.

Unfortunately, Joe didn't take the hint. "The boys told me you've been putting in a lot of hours lately. Do you think that's wise?"

"My health is just fine, Joe, if that's what you're asking. It's better for me right now if I keep busy." I dropped my voice. "I just feel more in touch with Lee when I'm at work."

Joe leaned closer. "I still can't believe you told Phillip and Jamie that Lee is missing. It's obviously put them under a strain. They've been sniping at each other all afternoon."

"I said I wouldn't keep things from them anymore, and I intend to keep that promise." I fought to keep a conversational tone to my voice. "As for their behavior, it's pretty par for the course these days. They must police themselves when they're with you."

Joe looked as if he wanted to argue the point, but dropped the subject as Carrie sidled over to us. Drawing his fiancée to his side, he sniffed the pumpkin pie. "Everything looks absolutely delicious, Dotty."

"It really does," I agreed, thankful for the reprieve. "Mother's pie won first place at the Junior Trailblazer bake-off last year. The boys love it."

"I can't believe Phillip and Jamie still have room for pie after everything they ate at dinner." Carrie shook her head in disbelief.

"Oh, it's a perpetual state with those two," Mother said. "I'm starting to think they both have bottomless pits instead of stomachs."

Joe laughed. "You're just not used to having men around the house, Dotty."

As Mother shot him a warning look, he suddenly realized what he'd said. "I meant that Phillip and Jamie are both growing like weeds . . . their appetites are bound to follow suit."

I'd suddenly had more family than I could stand for one day. "Excuse me," I choked out as I pushed away from the table and headed for the back door.

"Amanda—"

"I'm fine, Mother," I shouted over my shoulder. "It's just a little stuffy in here, that's all."

Stepping out onto the patio, I slumped against the side of the house. "I'm so sorry, Dotty," Joe said, his voice tight. "I didn't mean to upset her."

"You should go talk to her, Joe." Carrie's tone was filled with concern. "You might be able to help."

"Maybe she needs some time alone." Mrs. Reynolds spoke so fast, her words overlapped. "All this talk of weddings must be upsetting, given her situation."

Mother's reply was lost as I moved away from the house. It was a good thing my service revolver was safely locked away in my bedroom; if I was forced to hear much more of this, I wouldn't be responsible for my actions.

Breathing slowly and deeply, I closed my eyes and let the comforting darkness envelop me. There was a nip in the air, and my arms soon turned to gooseflesh beneath my sweater. I hoped that Lee was someplace warm; nights in the desert could be cold this time of year. That is, if he was any place at all . . .

"Oh, Lee." The words escaped my lips before I could stop them. "Where are you?"

"Right here, Amanda."

I whirled, peering into the shadows. Something or someone stepped out of the mist, a phantom shape taking solid form right in front of me. "Lee," I whispered, half-afraid I was hallucinating. "Is that really you?"

"Yeah, it's really me." He certainly felt solid enough as he closed his arms around me. "I'm home, Amanda." He cradled my head, tangling his fingers in my hair. "I'm finally home."

All I could manage was a strangled "oh-my-gosh" before his lips closed possessively on mine.


	27. Part VI Chapter 26

**VI **

_"but i can't stop the rain,_

_i can't hold back the thunder_

_oh, but i _

_can make one vow_

_and promise you my heart right now . . ."_

****

Thursday, November 26, 1987

9:32 p.m.

I stood on the front porch as the boys piled their gear into the trunk of Joe's car. "See you guys tomorrow," I called to them. "And don't give your dad a hard time."

"We'll be fine," Joe assured me as he prepared to follow Phillip and Jamie. "I'll drop them off tomorrow night after the rehearsal dinner."

"Thanks, Joe." I rubbed my arms to ward off the chill. "I know you must have a million and one things on your mind, what with the wedding and entertaining your future in-laws . . ."

"The boys are my family, too. I love having them with me. Besides," he said, as I drew my lips tightly together, "Lee looks like he could use a little time to unwind."

I couldn't argue with him there. Lee's behavior on the patio had made that plain enough. There was a wild desperation to his fevered kisses that struck an all too familiar chord. I closed my eyes as images of another night burned in my mind—the night we'd conceived our child. I'd felt the same jolt of electricity between us then.

"You have the strangest look on your face, Amanda." Joe put an arm around my shoulder. "Are you sure you're going to be okay? If you need me, Carrie could take the boys tonight and I could stay."

I smiled and shook my head. "I'm just fine, Joe."

"If you say so."

I groaned at the skepticism in his voice. "Look, I really do appreciate your offer to help out tonight. And you're right, Lee and I could use some private time together, he's clearly exhausted. But it's nothing more than that. You don't have to worry about me, and you certainly don't have to worry about the boys. They're just fine, too." My eyes narrowed as I added pointedly, "Right where they are."

Unwilling to meet my gaze, Joe planted a chaste kiss on my forehead. "See you tomorrow, sweetheart."

I watched him back the car out of the driveway and head in the direction of his new house in Chevy Chase. At the last moment, Jamie turned and waved goodbye from the backseat. Something pulled at my heart as I saw his face framed in the car window. I had an overwhelming urge to gather him close to me, to protect him from anything or anyone who tried to hurt him—including his father's good intentions. Returning his wave with a grim smile, I walked back into the house.

Mother was waiting in the foyer. "Amanda, I completely forgot that I promised to take Edna Gilstrap some pumpkin pie."

She sounded out of breath, and I raised an eyebrow as I glanced down at the slim remains of our dessert. "Really, Mother, you don't have to bolt out of here like some sort of fugitive—"

"Yes, I do. You know how maudlin poor Edna gets this time of year." She gave me a knowing smile. "Now, I'll probably stay and watch the late show with her, so don't feel you have to wait up."

My face flushed to what could only be a bright shade of crimson. "You know how much I appreciate—"

She gave me a quick hug, her eyes sparkling as she released me. "Goodnight, darling. Give Lee a kiss for me and tell him how glad we all are to have him home."

The door clicked shut; I was finally alone with my husband. I had the oddest feeling in my chest, as if all the breath had been squeezed out of my body. After all those long, lonely days and nights, not knowing if Lee was dead or alive, here he was, sitting on the couch in my very own family room. It was almost too much somehow.

Taking a deep breath, I marched myself up then down the short flight of stairs into the den. "Well, Stetson," I said with a laugh that sounded more nervous than happy, "you certainly know how to clear out a room."

He grinned. "I'm not sure Arlington's ready for the utilitarian terrorist look. I almost scared myself when I looked in the mirror."

"Well, you certainly scared Carrie's mother."

Lee's eyes twinkled. "That's a bad thing? I've never met such an awful old bat. I almost feel sorry for Joe."

"That's big of you." I smiled faintly as I sat down beside him.

He ran his hand through his unruly locks. "You know, I haven't worn my hair this long since my first semester in college when I was trying to get my uncle's goat."

I chuckled and cocked my head. "And did you?"

"Not really. I don't think anything I did ever really fazed the old man."

"Why do it then?" I traced my finger along the corded edge of the sofa.

He flicked a piece of lint from the pant leg of his black jumpsuit. "Who knows why kids do half the crazy things they do."

We both fell into an awkward silence as I nodded. I mentally kicked myself. With all the things we needed to discuss, all the things I'd dreamed of saying to him, I could only manage a discourse on the finer points of adolescent rebellion. Was I totally out of my mind?

"I must be totally out of my mind," Lee said, a flash of humor crossing his face. "I've thought about our being together again every moment of every day for the past three months, and now all I can talk about is the Colonel."

"I guess we're both acting kind of silly, huh?"

"Yeah, we are."

His voice held an unspoken challenge. I raised my head, for the first time truly meeting his gaze. His eyes burned with a longing that couldn't be described, and I shivered. "Oh, Lee, I've missed you so much."

He leaned closer and reached for me, but instead of letting him push me down on the couch as he so obviously wanted to do, I swung my legs across his lap. He adjusted with only a hint of disappointment. With slow deliberation, he placed tender kisses first on the center of my forehead, then on each eyebrow, and finally on the tip of my nose. "I've missed you, too, Mrs. Stetson," he murmured as he at last moved to my mouth.

I hummed softly against his lips. "Say that again."

"I've missed you?" He tilted back to catch my eye.

I smiled and shook my head. "'Mrs. Stetson.' It sounds really good."

He brushed away the tears that trickled down my cheeks. "I love you, Mrs. Stetson."

He underscored those last words in the deep, gravelly tone that had haunted my dreams these past few months. My voice shook as I replied, "I love you, too."

As he leaned forward this time, a sigh escaped from deep inside me. His mouth, so warm and wonderful against mine, engendered an even deeper craving. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I should stop him, that there were things we still needed to say to each other. I couldn't. The pleasure of his kiss was drugging in its sweetness, and I returned it with equal ardor. I wanted nothing more than to be swept into his arms and carried to the nearest bed.

His magical lips traveled from my mouth to my neck; I moaned softly as he nibbled the spot below my ear that always drove me crazy. "Amanda." He growled my name tenderly as he tried to pull me closer. "Where on earth did you get this crazy sweater? It keeps bunching up between us."

I suddenly felt as if I'd been doused by an imaginary bucket of cold water. "Lee." I struggled to escape his increasingly intimate embrace. "We really have to talk."

He obviously had other ideas. "We have the rest of our lives to talk, Amanda," he murmured, kissing me again. "I want you so much I can barely think straight."

His hand began a tantalizing journey up my leg. "Wait, Lee," I gasped. "We have the rest of our lives to do this, too. Right now there are some things I . . . you . . . really need to know."

He regarded me oddly for a moment before disentangling our bodies. "Okay," he agreed, albeit reluctantly. "But if you insist on talking, it'll be safer if we do it with a little space between us."

I couldn't have agreed more. "Where have you been?" I asked, trying to collect my scattered thoughts. "When you missed your check-ins, we were afraid—"

"I know." He let out a long breath. "There were a few times there I was afraid of the same thing. Ali and Karras seemed to buy my cover story at first—that I'd managed to slip through the net just like they had. But after Francine managed to escape, Karras suspected . . . well, I just couldn't risk . . ." His voice grew quiet as he stiffened. "It doesn't matter now."

I rubbed his knee. "What aren't you telling me, sweetheart?"

He twisted away to look over the back of the couch into the brightly lit kitchen. "There are things that happened on this assignment that I don't want to think about, much less tell you, Amanda," he said, after a beat.

Anguish was imprinted on every line of his face. "It was really awful, wasn't it?" I whispered.

"Yeah, it was. But it's in the past now. I'm home. I survived."

"And it really is over?"

He nodded. "Arbaalk, Karbala—whatever you want to call it—is finally broken. Birol's old boss is dead, and Karras is safely in custody in London. Crum's people are handling the interrogation, so the Agency won't be involved from here on out. Case closed, once and for all." I felt his hand clasp mine as he faced me again. "Now," he planted a tiny kiss on the inside of my wrist, "enough about me. How are you? You look . . . different somehow. Billy said you've had a pretty rough time of it. I'm really sorry, Amanda."

I slid my hand from his and pushed off the couch. "What else did Billy tell you?"

"Nothing specific." He scratched his head, obviously confused. "We barely had time to say hello before the debriefing."

"The debriefing?" I frowned. "Exactly how long have you been back, Lee?"

He exhaled loudly. "Since sometime late last night, I think."

"Late last night?" A hard edge crept into my voice. "You've been home all this time?"

Some indefinable emotion flitted across his face, and he brushed at his shaggy hair again. "If you choose to call being poked and prodded by the Agency medics then forced to face a squad of interrogators 'home,' Amanda, then I suppose the answer is yes."

My breathing quickened. "Why didn't you at least let me know you were okay? Do you have any idea how worried I've been about you? How worried we've all been?"

"Of course I do. This hasn't exactly been a picnic for me, you know. Do you think I enjoyed being put through my paces by Smyth's lackeys when all I wanted to do was see my family?"

"You could have called," I insisted in what Joe always used to call my "pigheaded" tone.

Lee lost his tenuous hold on his temper as he sprang off the couch. "I tried to call you every time the debriefing team gave me a break," he shot back, "but the damn phone line was always busy!"

"Phillip." I groaned, suddenly remembering. "He—"

"Look, Amanda, does it really matter? I'm here now, we're together."

I folded my hands across my stomach as I looked at him. "I don't know what's the matter with me," I said, feeling more than a little guilty. "I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just that I've been out of my mind, not knowing . . ."

He crossed the room and gathered me into his arms. "I'm sorry, too. Billy did offer to send a courier to give you a message, but I wanted to tell you myself. I guess I didn't stop to think about what you were going through. But I promise you, Amanda, no more. I have no intention of going anywhere, ever again."

Tears filled my eyes as I felt the tender touch of his lips on my hair, my ear, my cheek. "Lee," I began, in a shuddering voice. "I—"

He silenced me with a soul-shattering kiss. I could no longer hold back; I opened my mouth to his tongue, an aching need flowing through me as he probed deeply. He tried to mold his body to mine, his hands caressing my neck and shoulders, stroking down ever so slowly to the hollows of my back. Unable to think clearly under his passionate onslaught, I pressed closer, moaning my need as his hand slipped beneath my sweater then moved leisurely across my hips to my stomach . . .

He reared back as if he'd touched hot flame. "Amanda, what the hell . . ."

I flushed as his eyes swept over every inch of me. His expression sobered as the changes he'd overlooked earlier finally registered . . . the curve of my slightly fuller face, the new tautness of my breasts, the bulge at my waistline that he suddenly realized wasn't fabric at all, but flesh . . .

"Oh my God, you're pregnant!"

"Yes," I said, backing away. His words sounded like an indictment.

He continued to stare at me. "I can't believe this. Are you . . . is it . . . everything . . . okay? The baby—"

"The baby's just fine."

"Thank God." His expression of shock turned into a silly grin, and he stepped closer to cup my face. "Are you okay?" he asked, a funny catch in his voice.

His thumbs stroked my cheeks, and I covered his hands with mine. "Yeah, I'm just fine, too."

He looked at me in disbelief. "I never even gave this scenario a thought. I mean that you . . . that we . . ."

"Yeah, well . . ." I chuckled as I rubbed my belly; a tongue-tied Scarecrow was an incredulous sight to behold. "We most definitely are, pal."

He bit his bottom lip and shook his head. "We have to go shopping," his said, his beard tickling me as he hugged me closer.

Burying my face in his neck, I let out a happy laugh. The moment was everything I'd wished for and more. "We have some time yet before we have to worry about buying cribs," I told him dreamily.

"Cribs, hell! We need to buy a whole new house—with a state of the art security system. I heard a rumor last spring that the Seaforth people are marketing a new home version, but there are still a few flaws that—"

"Lee," I cried breathlessly. "Hold on a minute."

"Amanda, installing these things takes time." He sighed patiently, as if he was explaining to a small child. "Summer's not all that far away—"

"Lee." I pulled back to look at him, my voice subdued as understanding dawned. "The baby's due in March."

"March?" His smile faded into a frown as he did the mental math. "A-man-da. Exactly how long have you known about this baby?"

"Since . . . the beginning of August."

"But that would mean . . ." His eyes darkened dangerously. "You knew, didn't you . . . when we were all at Mrs. McMurty's. You knew, then?"

I nodded.

"And you just let me leave. . ." Anger sharpened his words. "You just let me leave without saying anything?"

"I . . . wanted . . . to. But everything happened so fast. Billy showed up and told us about Francine and then I was . . . well, scared, I guess."

"Scared?" He snorted. "Of what?"

Suddenly cold, I wrapped my arms around myself. "I thought that if you knew, then you wouldn't be able to do . . . what you had to do. So much was depending on you . . ." I rattled on as he continued to stare at me. "Francine was depending on you."

"You were depending on me." His words stabbed the air. "Depending on me to clean up the mess you'd made with your renegade investigation."

"Lee," I cried, stung. "That's not fair!"

"You're damn right it isn't. My own wife didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth!"

Anger, hot and furious, bubbled up inside me. "You're a fine one to talk, Stetson. Maybe if my own husband had trusted me in the first place, we wouldn't even be having this conversation."

"I did trust you." Lee yanked his hair back as he began to pace. "I explained everything in my letter. I specifically asked you not to look for me, that it would only make things worse. But instead you go off half-cocked, as usual—"

"Half-cocked!" My breath burned in my throat. "Well, thanks a lot, Scarecrow. A fine partner you turned out to be."

"At least I know how to follow orders." His voice had quieted, but his words held an undertone of cold contempt.

"Yes, you do," I returned, matching his attitude measure for measure. "You followed them straight out of my life. All it took was one word from Dr. Smyth."

"Damn it, Amanda. I told you what was at stake."

"Yes, you did. After the fact."

"The letter—"

"You didn't write that damned letter of yours until after you'd put me through the hell of thinking you didn't care anymore." Still seething, I roared at him, "Besides, I didn't receive it, so it doesn't count."

He paused to glare at me from across the room. "What are you talking about?"

"Your little performance was so compelling that Joe bought it hook, line and sinker. He thought you were deliberately trying to hurt me, so he never gave me your letter . . . at least, not until it was too late."

Lee's breathing turned ragged. "That damned bastard. He let you think I'd just walked away—"

"No, Lee," I spat back at him, rage choking me. "You let me think that. Joe was only trying to protect me."

Lee turned a cold eye on me. "I should have known you'd take his side. You always do."

I glowered at him. "What on earth is that supposed to mean?"

His lips thinned in anger. "It means that I crawl back home after three months of God-knows-what kind of hell, only to find your ex-husband happily carving the Thanksgiving turkey."

"He was just . . . wait a minute." My brows shot up. "You were spying on me! How long, Lee . . . how long were you out there, skulking around in the backyard?"

"Long enough to see Joe King happily presiding over Thanksgiving dinner at the head of our table! Well, my table, technically, since it's the one that came from my apartment."

"Well, you're certainly welcome to take it back." My heart hammered in my chest. "I've managed to come this far without any help from you. Why start now?"

The sudden silence hung in the air between us. "Why, indeed," Lee replied as he abruptly turned on his heel.

The sound of the slamming door hit me with the force of a sucker punch. I stepped backward on unsteady legs, grateful when I bumped the edge of the chair. As my knees buckled, I grabbed for the arms and lowered myself down.

I couldn't stop shaking. I'd suspected all along how Lee was going to react when he learned my secret, but the blind ferocity of my own response shocked me to the core. Where had all that rage come from? I must have been more furious at him than I'd allowed myself to believe.

But no sooner had I acknowledged the feeling than I felt its hold on me loosen. I'd been angry for so long—first at Lee for leaving me, then at Joe for playing God with the letter. But had I really behaved any better?

I remembered the haunted look in Lee's eyes when he'd arrived at Mrs. McMurty's, his halting confession that he hadn't expected to come home alive, the sorrow stamped on his face as he'd been forced to say goodbye yet again. He'd hurt me, that's true, but I'd certainly returned the favor by keeping the news of our baby from him. Is that what I'd intended all along—some subconscious payback for my husband's lies? If so, I'd certainly succeeded.

Exhausted, I shrank down lower into the chair. The edges of our wedding rings chafed my skin, and I pulled the chain from beneath my sweater. Removing the rings with painstaking care, I placed them on the coffee table. The gold bands glistened in the soft lamplight. I stared at them, my eyes a watery blur. When the tears came this time, I didn't even try to hold them back.


	28. Part VI Chapter 27

Friday, November 27, 1987

7:15 a.m.

The aroma of percolating coffee hit me as I reached the bottom stair. I paused briefly to drink in the scent of the nutty brew. For a fraction of a second I wondered if my husband had, indeed, returned home last night, but that hope was dashed as I caught a whiff of bacon and eggs. Lee might have been desperate enough for a caffeine fix, but he would have never attempted breakfast.

Rubbing my bleary eyes, I plastered a smile on my face and walked into the kitchen. Just as I'd suspected, Mother was already there, reading her daily bridge hand at the breakfast table. "Good morning," I said with a cheeriness I didn't feel. "Did you sleep well?"

She peered at me over the top of the newspaper. "Better than you obviously did. Honestly, Amanda, you look like you're dead on your feet. Surely this new supervisor of yours would understand if you called in sick, today of all days."

I smothered a yawn. "He's out of town."

"And you're the only one who can cover for him?"

"In this case, yes." I reminded myself to be patient; Mother still harbored some major reservations where my career was concerned. "I really don't mind. He's doing a favor for a friend this weekend."

"Well, favor or not," she advised in her usual firm voice, "you need to get some rest. Remember, you promised to start taking better care of yourself once Lee came home."

I flinched. "It's only a couple of classes, Mother. And I won't even have to be on my feet today. There's a test."

"A test?" She quirked her eyebrows. "They have tests in spy school?"

"I keep telling you, it's not that different from those continuing education classes you're always taking."

"Amanda." She folded her arms across her chest. "I have yet to see a course entitled 'Escape and Evasion' offered in any curriculum at the Community College."

"Mother," I moaned. "Have you been reading my textbooks again?"

Her face reddened. "Well, I may have taken a tiny peek into one or two. I thought it might be helpful to know how to pick a lock the next time I forgot my keys. You never know when a skill like that will come in handy."

I grinned and rolled my eyes. "I guess not."

She shifted in her chair then skillfully changed the subject. "I made Lee some coffee. Do you want me to take him some in a bit or just let him sleep in?"

I stiffened. "I don't think—"

"Now, Amanda, I know how awful jetlag can be, but you just have to ignore it if you want your body to get back on schedule. I made that mistake when we came back from Germany—"

"You can't take Lee any coffee, Mother."

A tense silence settled over the room as the echo of my harsh words died away. I turned to stare out the window. Without their leaves, the stick-like tree branches waved awkwardly in the morning breeze. I closed my eyes and rubbed my aching forehead. "Sorry," I murmured. "I didn't mean to take my frustrations out on you."

"Amanda." The chair scraped over the floor; a few seconds later, I felt a gentle touch on my back. "Did you and Lee have a fight?"

I whirled in surprise. "How did you know?"

She smiled. "Well, darling, feeling frustrated on the morning after you've been reunited with your long-lost husband can only be attributed to one of two things. Since Lee happens to be an eleven on a ten point scale, I figured it had to mean a fight."

My cheeks grew hot. "Oh, Mother, really!"

She regarded me closely, her smile growing along with my discomfiture. "Well, am I wrong?"

"Yes . . . I mean, no . . . I mean . . ." I let out an exasperated groan. "Okay, we did have a fight last night—a horrible fight, to be exact. Lee walked out and . . . and I'm not sure he's coming back," I finished, my voice trembling.

Mother slipped an arm around my waist. "Come on, sweetheart, sit down and I'll fix you a nice cup of tea."

"I don't have time," I protested, even as she led me to the chair. "I've got to get to work."

"Nonsense. You said yourself the class is taking a test. Your students will probably thank you for a few extra minutes of study time."

Too tired to argue anymore, I acquiesced. I watched in silence as Mother retrieved two cups from the cupboard then deftly poured out the tea from the white porcelain pot on the counter. "I figured we could both use a little pick me up," she said, bringing the mugs to the kitchen table.

"Thank you," I murmured as she sat down across from me and pushed a cup in my direction. I sipped slowly, the warmth from the steaming liquid making my eyes water. "Oh, Mother," I cried. "Everything's a mess."

"It may seem that way at the moment. But it will sort itself out."

I tapped my finger against the side of the mug. "I don't see how. Lee's furious with me, and I'm not particularly happy with him right now, either."

Mother's brow furrowed as she took a long drink. "Do you remember when your Daddy worked for that awful Mr. McGivver? Of course you don't," she answered for me, "you were too young. Well, Daddy was on the road constantly back then, and every time he came home from one of his business trips, we ended up having the most terrible row. You could practically set your watch by it." Mother leaned closer. "You see, even though I knew he was only doing his job, I resented him leaving me to cope with the home front on my own. And Daddy felt just as guilty for doing it, even though he didn't really have a choice in the matter." She eyed me carefully. "The best thing that ever happened to us was when he quit that job. Even if we did have to eat macaroni for eight weeks straight until he found something else."

"You want me to ask Lee to quit his job?"

"Of course not, darling. No one should ever quit their job unless they have another one lined up, no matter how horrible it is. Of course, it never hurts to take a look at your options." She lifted her eyebrows. "I'm sure a man like Lee has lots of options."

"Oh, Mother—"

"Well, it's true, darling. But that's a discussion for another time. The point I'm trying to make is that stress takes its toll on even the best relationships. Sometimes it's easier to look for something to fight about than to deal with the real issues."

I glanced ruefully at my stomach. "Lee and I sure didn't have to look too far."

Mother squeezed my hand. "I'm sure the news just caught him by surprise, that's all."

I blushed at the memory of my husband's passion-filled kisses. "You could say that."

"Give him some time to adjust to the idea. Men often react peculiarly when they discover they're going to be a father. Your uncle Herman swore he had morning sickness when he found out Aunt Edna was expecting."

"I wish it was as simple as that." I expelled a loud breath. "You should have seen the look on Lee's face when he discovered I'd kept the baby a secret. He was so angry, that it made me angry, too. He . . . I . . . we both said such terrible things to each other."

"And did you mean them?"

I brushed the tears from my eyes as I shook my head. "All these cruel words just seemed to find their way out of my mouth. I regretted them as soon as I said them."

"There, you see? I'm sure Lee feels the same way."

"Then why didn't he come home last night?" I asked in a small voice.

"Maybe he was too ashamed to face you. Or maybe—"

"Maybe what?"

She leaned back and took a deep breath before engaging my eye. "You know, darling, it's been my experience that frightened people often say and do a lot of things they don't mean."

"Frightened?" I frowned. "But that doesn't make any sense. He made it home safely. The hard part's over now."

Mother's expression softened. "From what you've told me about Lee's childhood, I suspect that for him, the 'hard part,' as you call it, is just beginning."

A funny pain pricked my heart. Once again, Mother was absolutely right. Maybe if I hadn't let my own resentment consume me last night, I might have seen his panic for what it was. Handling the bullets and the bad guys was nothing out of the ordinary for Lee; handling his emotions was another matter entirely.

Tears filled my eyes again as I looked across the table at my mother. "I really don't know what I would do without you these days."

"Oh, I think you'd do quite nicely," she sprang up to give me quick hug, "now that your husband's home."


	29. Part VI Chapter 28

Friday, November 27, 1987

1:23 p.m.

"Time's up.  Please fold your exam papers and place them on my desk." 

There was a scraping of chairs and shuffling of feet as, one by one, the freshmen candidates came forward.  Clearing my throat, I indicated the pile of folders on the corner table. 

"We'll be starting the 'hands-on' phase of this course on Monday," I informed them, adopting the singsong tone Beaman always used when addressing the freshmen.  "You'll each be responsible for a mock security review of one of our government facilities.  Select a case study and familiarize yourself with the specifics over the weekend."

Returning to my work, I pretended to grade the essays from the morning session.   When I'd told Mother teaching a few classes would be a piece of cake, I hadn't taken into account the Agency's hyperactive rumor mill.  As word of Scarecrow's return spread through the halls like wildfire, speculation was running even more rampant than usual. 

Just a few more minutes of this torture, I told myself, and then I'd be able to make my escape.  Although, the way my luck was running today, that awful Judy Jerome was probably lying in wait for me somewhere.   Or, the more likely scenario, she was baiting an ambush for Lee.  It would be so like that conniving little monster to assume she had just what the legendary Scarecrow needed.  Then again, maybe she did.  It was after one o'clock, and I still hadn't heard so much as a word from my husband.

A shadow fell across my papers as one of the freshmen paused by my desk.  I groaned under my breath.  On top of everything else, I was going to have to deal with Bob Sanderson.  The over-eager recruit could never wait to find out how he'd scored.  Why he bothered to worry, I'd never know; he'd already surpassed my record for spoiling the curve. 

"You know the rules, Sanderson."  I was careful to keep my grainy eyes glued to the sentence I'd just reread for the third time.  "Agent Beaman will post the grades when he returns on Monday morning."  When he didn't reply, I reached into the drawer and withdrew a thick file.  "In the meantime, why don't you concentrate on this?  You might find this facility interesting."

I heard a low laugh as large hands reached for the file.  "Statik Aerospace?  Don't you think that's kind of cruel, Mrs. King?"

My red pen slipped from my hands as I looked up into a pair of hazel eyes.  "It depends on your definition, I guess."  My voice squeaked.  "Sanderson enjoys a challenge."

"Seems more like an insurmountable task to me."  Lee studied me intently for a moment.  "You're a pretty tough act to follow, you know."

"So are you."

He dropped the file on the desk.  "No, Amanda.  I'm an idiot.  I never could see past the floor wax."

"If you're expecting me to argue that point, you're out of luck."  I couldn't keep my voice from shaking. 

"I'm not expecting anything of the kind.  After the way I behaved last night, you'd be justified in kicking me right out that door."

My knees knocked together as I stood up.  The simple sight of him sent my senses reeling, and I balled my hands into fists to keep from touching him.  "You shaved."

He tried to cover his embarrassment with a shrug, but didn't quite succeed.  "Yeah, well, when you're going to grovel, it doesn't hurt to weight the scales a little."

He had a point there.  I couldn't decide what I wanted to do more—hit him over the head or kiss him senseless.  But as my eyes burned from lack of sleep, I found I couldn't dismiss my anger.  "Where were you last night?"

"I ended up sacking out on the couch in the Q-Bureau." 

"The Q-Bureau?"

His complexion reddened.  "Yeah, well, I'd gone about three blocks before I remembered that I didn't have an apartment any more, and I didn't know where else to go." 

"You could have come home."

"I needed some time, Amanda.  Some time to wrap my head around everything that had happened." 

"I see."

He shifted his weight and brushed a hand through his newly cut hair.  "I didn't intend to stay away all night, but I guess my body had other ideas.  I closed my eyes for a second and suddenly it was morning.  I went to the house, but I must have just missed you, so I thought I might as well take the time to make myself presentable before we talked."

I folded my arms across my chest.  "It took you over six hours?"

"My barber had to work a bit to get all the dye out of my hair.  And I did a little shopping, too."  He laughed, trying to sound nonchalant.  "None of my clothes seem to, uh, fit."

Frowning, I observed him more closely.  Despite the pains he'd taken with his appearance, he looked achingly tired.  The dark circles under his eyes gave his face a pinched look.  And though the Agency-issue jumpsuit he'd been wearing last night had hidden it well, he was painfully thin.  "You look awful," I said before I could stop myself.

He gave a rueful laugh.  "Not quite the reaction I was looking for."

"This isn't funny, Lee."  A hard edge crept into my voice.  "Are you really okay?  And tell me the truth," I said as he showed signs of handing me another platitude. 

He shoved his hands deeply into his pockets and studied the floor.  "My blood pressure is a little higher than it should be."

"How high?"  Despite my irritation, concern seeped into my words.  "Are you on medication?"

"No.  Dr. Joyce feels it will correct itself if I take it easy, but . . . well, she's taken me off the active duty roster until the first of the year.  And I've been ordered to 'talk' to Pfaff," he added, with a groan.

"Oh, Lee—"

"I really will be fine, Amanda.  It just might take a while, that's all."  As my expression unconsciously softened, he leaned closer and pressed his slim advantage.  "I'm sorry for those things I said last night.  I find out the most incredible news a man could ever expect to hear, and instead of being happy about it, I react like a damn fool.  You have every reason to be furious with me."

"I'm not furious."  He raised an eyebrow.  "Well, okay, maybe just a little.  But I'm worried, too."

A look of sadness passed over his face.  "If I had to choose, I'd rather have you angry.  The last thing I want is to cause you more worry than I already have."

I chewed on my lip as I looked at him.  "You really think the news is incredible?"

"Of course I do.  I was just . . . surprised, that's all.  I never thought . . ." He blew out short breath.  "I'm sorry.  Talking about this is even harder than I imagined."

I rested my hand on his sleeve.  He was obviously overwrought and, while I didn't want to cause him more distress, I couldn't just let it go, either.  "Please, Lee," I said, increasing the pressure on his arm.  "I need to know what you're feeling."

He extricated himself from my grasp and paced the room a few times before finally settling into one of the student chairs.  Leaning forward on the arm piece, he scrubbed his eyes with the tips of his fingers.  "I feel incredibly . . . dirty, Amanda.  After the things I've been forced to do on this assignment, I . . . well, I don't even feel like I should be allowed in the same room with you.  And I sure as hell don't deserve to have a child."

"That's ridiculous—"

"It was the night you came to my apartment, wasn't it?"  His face darkened with an undefined emotion as he looked at me.  "The night I made you think I . . . the night I walked out on you."

I came around the desk and sat in the chair beside his.  The pain in his eyes stole the breath from my body, and I struggled to answer.  "Yes . . . I guess I wasn't thinking too clearly at the time.  I forgot I wasn't wearing my diaphragm, and, well—"

"Please don't apologize.  Nothing about this mess is your fault."

"Oh, Lee, it's not a mess, it's a miracle.  One I'm very, very happy about."

"You are?"  His voice sounded as unsteady as I felt. 

"Yes, sweetheart, I am." 

He shook his head.  "I can't even begin to imagine what it's been like for you, having to go through this on your own.  The boys must think I'm a first class jerk."

I rubbed at a pencil mark on the arm of the chair.  "They were a little upset at first.  It's been hard for them, having to keep up this charade—especially for Jamie.  But you're home now.  It will all sort itself out."

"What about you, Amanda?  I know how the Agency grapevine operates.  Everyone must have thought—"

"It hasn't been that bad.  Really."  As he regarded me skeptically, I added, "Francine's been a big help.  She has a distinct talent for forcing people to eat their words."

He squirmed as he met my eye.  "How's she doing?"

"I think she still has a tough road ahead of her, but she gets stronger each day."  I leaned back against my chair and smiled.  "She's actually spending Thanksgiving in San Francisco with her mother, and, well, she took Beaman home with her."

"Beaman?"  His eyes widened.  "Are you kidding me?"

"Junior Trailblazers' honor."  I raised my hand in a mock salute.  "I think they're an item, although neither one of them seems inclined to confirm my suspicions at the moment."

"Well, I'll be damned.  I guess there's more than one kind of miracle around here these days." 

"There sure is."

Lee's expression grew serious.  "Amanda, about Francine . . ."

"It's okay.  She explained to me how the two of you had to pretend . . . well, I understand.  Her life was at stake . . . both your lives.  I know that nothing happened."

"Thanks.  I appreciate your trust, especially after everything I . . ."  He abandoned his chair and began to pace the room again.  "Amanda, what I said to you last night, about you wanting me to clean up your mess.  It wasn't."

"Wasn't what?" I asked, confused.

"Your mess."  He stopped abruptly and faced me.  "I talked to Billy before I came down here looking for you.  Crumwald's team has submitted a preliminary report on the Karras interrogation.  He's talking under the drugs, it seems.  Arbaalk went after Francine because of a vendetta.  Evidently they'd targeted her because of what went down before, with Birol."

I stared at him with rounded eyes.  "Her impersonation of Magda Petrak?"

"Yes."  He shuffled his feet as he slowly approached me.  "That search for me you set in motion had nothing at all to do with what happened to her.  You aren't responsible for . . ."

I let my eyes close and drew in a shaky breath.  It was as if a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders.  It wasn't my fault . . . any of it . . .

I felt Lee's hands on my arms.  "Amanda," he was saying, as he shook me lightly.  "Come back to me."

I opened my eyes.  He'd squatted in front of me, and I smiled as I looked down into his worried face.  "It's not a flashback.  It's just . . . relief, I guess.  I've felt guilty about what happened for so long—especially when Francine refused to let me shoulder any of the blame."

Lee gazed at the far wall.  "And I sure as hell didn't make matters any better by throwing that in your face last night.  I had no right to do that, especially after the way I lied to you."

I bit my lip.  "I lied to you, too, you know."

"You didn't—"

"Yes, I did.  I should have told you about the baby.  I think a part of me was just so bitter about everything that . . ."  I looked down at the floor.  "That I wanted to hurt you . . . the way you'd hurt me.  I'm so sorry."

"It doesn't matter, Amanda—any of it.  All I care about is that you're okay.  It's all I've ever cared about."

"I am okay, Lee," I said, suddenly realizing how true that was.  The storm had blown itself out at last.  Karbala . . . Arbaalk . . . they were only words now.  I'd started down a long, dark tunnel that day Birol had grabbed me from the van, but I'd finally come out safely on the other side, into the sunlight.  While I might never be able to eradicate the memories of my ordeal, I could certainly limit their power over my life.  Addi Birol was a part of my past.  Like Lee, I'd survived.

I leaned forward and cupped my husband's face, brushing my thumbs lightly across his chin.  "Hey, why don't we make a pact?  From here on out, we'll keep the past where it belongs."

He looked up at me.  "You think we can do that, after everything that's happened?"

"Yes, I do.  If there's one thing my sessions with Pfaff have taught me, it's that you have to move forward.  It's helped me, Lee; he's helped me.  You were right to insist that I see him." 

He rolled his eyes.  "Point taken.  I'll see the shrink if you want me to."

"Good."  I smiled.  "You know, Stetson, with a little luck, Dr. Pfaff might just succeed in making you a 'normal' person."

He snorted.  "Whatever that is."

"It's you and me.  It's Phillip and Jamie . . . Mother . . . our new baby . . . it's all of us being able to live together as a family, with no more secrets.  If anything positive has come out of all this pain, it's that.  You know, we have an awful lot to look forward to, you and I."

"A family . . ."  He gave me a bashful smile as he let his hand rest gently on my belly for the first time.  "I think you might just be right, Mrs. Stetson."

I covered his hand with mine.  "I know I'm right.  You'll see that everything—"  My eyes widened as my fingers touched cool metal.  "Lee, you're wearing your wedding ring!"

"You bet I am."  He stood and reached into his pocket.  "And I think it's high time you did, too."

I stared open-mouthed at the rings he placed in my palm.  "Are you sure?  If we put these on here, there's no turning back."

He looked pointedly at my protruding stomach.  "It's a little late to turn back, don't you think?  Besides, I thought we'd just agreed to move forward."

"But what about Dr. Smyth?  Did he okay—"

"Amanda."  He pulled me to my feet.  "I don't need some damned bureaucrat's okay to tell the world how much I love my wife.  Or my child, either, for that matter.  As for my career . . . well, maybe it's time to rethink a few things."

I stared at him incredulously.  "You can't be serious."

"Don't worry."  A grin spread across his face.  "I promise we won't have to eat macaroni while I figure out what I want to do."

I groaned.  "You've been talking to Mother."

"She didn't say anything I wasn't already thinking.  There are other options out there, you know."

I fought to control my smile.  "So I hear."

"And I meant what I said about the macaroni.  You don't have to worry about money.  I negotiated a pretty handsome stipend from Smyth before I took this assignment.  So you and the boys would be okay in case, well, you know."

"Oh, Lee, this was never about money.  I just want you to be happy."

He rocked back on his heels to look at me.  "You know, a very wise lady once told me that even the great ones need to know when to let go.  I think I just might be ready."  He gently fingered the rings still resting in my palm.  "So, what do you say, Mrs. Stetson?  Are you ready to put these on, once and for all?"

I pursed my lips as I looked into his eyes.  "You're really sure?"

He stepped closer and brushed his lips through my hair.  "I've never been surer of anything in my life."

I let out a deep breath.  My eyes on his, I slowly and carefully replaced the rings on my finger, the same way Lee had done that day in Marion, all those months ago.  Except, this time, it would be different.  This time, we could finally be Mr. and Mrs. Stetson to the world.

I gazed down at the diamond sparkling next to the gold band on my finger.  "Oh, wow!" 

His hands swallowed mine, enclosing them in warmth.  "I love you, Amanda."

A feeling of the most perfect happiness welled up inside me.  Linking my arm through his, I tugged him purposefully toward the door.  "Walk with me."

His brows shot up as he recognized the words he'd used long ago.  "Are you in trouble?"

I smiled softly.  "Not anymore."


	30. Epilogue

**_Epilogue_**

__

_'cause baby i_

_i believe in all_

_all of love's glory_

_and no one's gonna talk me down . . .'_

__

__

_Saturday, May 22, 1988_

_11:32. p.m._

_Lee Stetson paused beneath the square entryway and scanned the crowd.  Though the hour was late, the elegant ballroom was still packed, the party in full swing.  Trust Francine to turn her wedding reception into the social event of the season.  He smiled and shook his head.  The elite of D.C. certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves, but the gala celebration didn't hold a candle to quiet evenings spent in his new home, with his new family._

_Searching the elegant crowd again, he spotted a familiar face in the corner.  Taking care to protect his drink, he negotiated his way through the boisterous crowd and approached the small table.  _

_A smile lit up the man's dark face.  "Scarecrow.  It's good to see you."_

_"Same here, Billy."__  He indicated an empty chair.  "Do you mind?"_

_"Not at all.__  Sit down, please."  __Melrose__ brought his glass to his lips and took a quick sip.  "Where the hell have you been keeping yourself?  I've been looking for an opportunity to talk to you all night."_

_"It's been pretty hectic.  There was a minor emergency on a job we're doing, and I had to take care of it right after the ceremony.  I didn't want to spoil Francine's big day, so Amanda covered my 'escape.'"_

_Billy nodded.  "I'd heard you two landed the Tel-Star contract."_

_"Yeah, it's turning out to be a pretty big job.  Lucrative, too," he added, with a satisfied grin.  It was comforting to see his new venture showing signs of paying off so soon.  Though they had a good nest egg in the bank, the new house in __Rockville__ had put a sizable dent in it.  Not to mention the horse he'd just bought for Jamie—the one he hadn't quite found the nerve to tell Amanda about yet._

_He turned his attention back to Billy.  "I'm sure this job is just the first of many," his friend was saying.  "My contacts tell me 'Security Consultants' has made quite a splash.  D.C. is buzzing."_

_"Thanks, but I think the jury's still out.  There's a lot riding on this new project—with a little luck, it'll give the Seaforth people a run for their money."  He took a long drink.  "Amanda's been terrific about it all, though.  Keeps telling me that I have 'options' and everything will work out just fine."_

_"She might be right about that.  I probably shouldn't say anything, but . . ."  Billy glanced around the room then leaned closer and lowered his voice.  "You two will be getting a call from the Agency next week.  Scuttlebutt has it Smyth is drooling over the specs of your new security system."_

_Lee's face broke out into a wide grin.  "And we'll be more than happy to talk to him, Billy.  For a big, fat fee."_

_"I'll just bet you will."  Billy's laughter boomed.  "So, tell me, how is that adorable little daughter of yours?"_

_"She's getting cuter every day, especially since she started sleeping through the night."  He reached into his pocket and took out his wallet.  "I just happen to have a few pictures . . . what?" _

_"Nothing."  Billy let out another deep belly laugh.   "I just never thought I'd live to see the day when the legendary Scarecrow carried family pictures in his wallet instead of—"  He ended the sentence with a discrete cough.  _

_Lee pretended to be affronted as he spread the snapshots out in front of his friend.  "Times change, Billy, and, I'm happy to say, I've changed with them."_

_"I can see that."  Billy raised a bushy eyebrow as he looked at one of the shots.  "Are these Amanda's boys?  They've certainly grown."_

_He nodded.  "Jamie has really shot up over the past few months.  He's almost as tall as Phillip now.  Amanda says the air up in __Rockville__ agrees with him."  _

_Not to mention the fresh start he'd made.  The boy seemed to thriving in his new school environment, free from the innuendo that had accompanied their secret marriage.  Children could be cruel sometimes, especially to a sensitive kid like Jamie. "I think he really enjoys being a big brother, too.  He's crazy about the baby."_

_Billy studied the pictures again.  "This must be Phillip."  He pointed to the shot of a tall, sandy-haired boy in a baseball uniform._

_"His team photo.  It was taken just last week."  He rolled his eyes.  "Did you know they even make them into buttons?"_

_Billy's eyes sparkled.  "You aren't going to tell me you actually have one, are you?"_

_"I'll admit to a magnet on the refrigerator, but nothing more.  Aw, come on, Billy," he said when his friend laughed out loud, "I have to support the kid somehow.  He's had a hard time settling in.  He had to leave his cute little girlfriend behind in __Arlington__."  _

_"That's hardly the end of the earth, you know," Billy said, with a laugh._

_"Not to hear Phillip tell it.  Amanda doesn't seem to be all that broken up over it, though."  _

_In fact, he suspected that had been the deciding factor for his wife in favor of the move.  She thought Phillip and Linda were getting entirely too serious.  From the compromising position he'd caught the pair in right before Christmas, she might have had a point.  _

_"I think making __Rockville__ High's traveling baseball team has been good for Phillip," Lee added thoughtfully.  "It's given him something else to concentrate on.  You know, Billy, you should try to come to one of his games this summer, if you get the chance.  The kid has a pretty decent arm."_

_Billy smiled.  "Let me know when and where, and I'll be there."_

_"Thanks.  I know Amanda would love it, too.  We're trying to prove that . . ."  He shrugged.  "Well, I think it might help."_

_Billy rolled his eyes.  "How are things with Joe?"_

_Lee winced; the subject of Joe King was still a touchy one.  "He's not exactly overjoyed at the boys' decision to stay with us, but he did have the decency to accept it.  I think my leaving the Agency made him feel a little more secure about things.  He doesn't want a custody battle anymore than we do, but . . . well, what happened last summer scared him.  Badly."_

_Billy frowned.  "I'm sorry about that.  At the time, we thought the threat to your family was real."_

_"It was real, Billy.  What happened to Francine proved that.  If I hadn't carried through with that damnable charade—if Arbaalk had thought Amanda and I were still connected—they might have targeted her as well."  He let out a deep sigh.  "Knowing that at least helps me sleep at night.  I just wish . . ."_

_"What?" his friend prodded._

_Lee bit his lip.  "At the risk of sounding a little like Joe King, I wish that Amanda didn't want to go back to work at the Agency when her maternity leave is up next month.  There's no talking her out of it, though.  She can be kind of stubborn when she wants to be."_

_"So I've noticed.  It's a trait you both happen to share."_

_Lee grimaced.  "The odd thing is—Dotty supports her decision.  Even though she's moved into a condo of her own, she's offered to come by every day to watch the baby.  Go figure."_

_Leaning his elbows on the table, Billy interlocked his fingers.  "Amanda has decided to take a desk job.  She won't be in the field anymore." _

_"And that's supposed to make me feel better?  You know as well as I do, no one's really safe in this business."_

_"In or out of this business, Scarecrow.  You and Francine may have decided to cash in your chips, but that doesn't cancel out the past."_

_"I know.  Trust me, I intend to keep a close net around my children and my wife.  It would be easier to do if she would agree to work with us at our new company, but . . ."  Lee rolled his eyes.  "She has this crazy idea that we need benefits."_

_Billy snickered.  "Amanda's always been practical."_

_Lee smiled wryly.  "Yeah—although I'm not sure marrying me in secret was one of the most sensible things she's ever done."_

_"Stranger things happen all the time, Scarecrow.  I would never have predicted that Francine Desmond would chuck her career to go into business with you."  Billy's eyes drifted to the dance floor, where Francine was smiling happily in the arms of her new husband.  "Or that she would have ever entertained a second thought about Effrom Beaman, for that matter."_

_"Now, Billy, he did keep offering her the pink slip to his car."  _

_"Yeah."  Billy gave him a dry smile.  "Who would have guessed he'd traded in that Buick of his for a Jaguar."_

_"Seriously, though," Lee said, as they both shared a laugh, "she seems genuinely happy.  Amanda says Beaman is Francine's reality check."_

_Billy snorted.  "I've always thought she could use one.  The same as you, my friend."_

_Lee tipped his glass in Billy's direction and leaned back in his chair.  Nursing his drink, he let his eyes follow the bride and groom as they glided across the floor.  Francine's smile seemed to light up her face as she gazed at Beaman.  Lee recognized the look.  He saw it shining back at him every morning in his own mirror.  It was contentment, the kind that sprang from deep inside, from knowing—finally and irrevocably—that you'd reached journey's end.  He hoped it would be the same for Francine; she certainly deserved it.  If luck was on her side, she might even discover that "normal" really was all it was cracked up to be.  And then some._

_Pushing back his chair, he turned to his friend and smiled.  Something seemed to catch in his throat, but when he spoke, Lee Stetson's voice was warm and deep.  "Excuse me, Billy.  I think it's time I danced with my wife."_

**_Finis_**


End file.
